The Lords Paramount
by OceFossa
Summary: HPASoIaF: "Whenever the North marches below the Neck, the South bleeds." He challenged, "Why then should we help you, Lord Stark?" (Temp Hold-Moving and Job Relocation)
1. A Change of Fate

**The Lords Paramount**

By

OceFossa

…

Plot © OceFossa

A Song of Ice and Fire © George R.R. Martin

Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling

…

 _ **Summary:**_ "Thee shouldst ha'st been a Ravenclaw, Fate hast decre'd t so," Death pinned Hermione with a menacing glare, "Howev'r, as the v'ry future hast been so alt'r'd as to beest unrecognizable, yond all shall cometh to naught, saveth by thy removal. Thee has't nay choice, 'twill beest so. Hopefully thee shall gain some wisdom. This is thy lasteth chance."

…

 **Chapter 1: A Change of Fate**

…

"'Death closes all: but something ere the end,

Some work of noble note, may yet be done,

Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.

The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:

The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep

Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,

'T is not too late to seek a newer world.

Push off, and sitting well in order smite

The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds

To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths

Of all the western stars, until I die...

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

 _-Ulysses by Alfred, Lord Tennyson-_

* * *

The fighting inside of Hogwarts was pure chaos. The three friends had been separated from each other when a giant's clubs smashed between them sending bits of rocks and other rubble flying, causing the teens to dodge and jump for cover.

Hermione was unsure of where to look or who to attack. She was crouched behind the ruins of table not too far from the hall entrance. Spells splashed around her like water while flames and explosions caused the din to become almost unbearable. As it was her ears were ringing. She couldn't hear the yells of the injured, the screams of the grief stricken, or even the casting of spells. All she heard was the constant tone muffling any other sound.

Once the rocks stopped flying she peeked out from behind her barrier and was rewarded with the sight that would haunt her nightmares. Giant acromantula skittered through the torn ruins, out of control fiendfyre flames torching wizards and witches alike sending them to screaming deaths, giants smashing youth and adults, Greyback tore out the throat of one unlucky witch, and the creeping coldness of the Dementor's as they swooped in to Kiss the living.

Ironically it was the empty suits of armor that fought valiantly against the Deatheaters and their allies all the while helping the Order and the DA tremendously, that she took courage from. Somewhere in the back corner of her mind, her imagination likened it to the battles of Tolkien's Middle Earth, with medieval knights and men-at-arms gallantly staving off the forces of Mordor.

Only this wasn't a fantasy novel and her life truly was in danger. A movement off to the side revealed to her that Ron was fighting something fierce, against who or what she did not see.

Harry was gone. Her friend was nowhere to be seen, though she vaguely supposed with his single-minded determination, he had gone on ahead to the Whomping Willow and the Shrieking Shack beyond that.

Slowly, too slowly for this battle, her hearing came back to her and she could make out the yells, the spells, and the overall individual sounds. Hermione heard it too late. The terrible din of the fighting perfectly disguised the encroachment of oncoming danger. Clacking skitters seemed to rush upon her suddenly, as if the creature had simply birthed from thin air.

The bookworm had just enough time to look up and open her mouth to scream when a massive stinger thrust into her gut. Hermione felt the breath forced from her lungs at the force of the assault. She gasped futilely as the paralyzing compound of the acromantula venom spread with a vengeance. Still somewhat shocked, she dimly became aware of gathering her magic and pushing.

The explosion was enough to throw the giant spider from her while tearing out its stinger. As she staggered back wheezing and trying to breath, futilely attempting to force her near paralyzed arms to cover the gaping hole torn across her stomach as it bled profusely.

Something, maybe a noise, must have escaped her because in the next moment Ron turned towards her. The widening of his eyes was enough to let her know he saw the blood, before he quickly dispatched his Deatheater opponent and turn his attention to her fully. Concern overriding all other emotions on his dirt smudged features.

She saw his look of concern morph into a deep fear as the blood drained from his face. Hermione dimly became aware of the same skittering limbs clacking up behind her. The small part of her brain that was disconnected from everything around her surmised that the acromantula rushing back towards her from where he accidental magic had thrown it.

She dropped to the ground, landing in a boneless heap on her side and began to seizure as the venom wreaked havoc in her body. Through it all she continued to be aware that Ron was looking at her and she watched him in turn.

The boy she was beginning to acknowledge caring for made as if to run to her side before his face paled and he stumbled and skidded to a stop. Ron then scrambled backwards a few paces.

The teen's jowls quivered as he tried to work up something to say. Or maybe yell a warning, she didn't know because nothing came out. Not even a squeak made it past the redhead's lips. She looked on feeling rather detached from her quivering form and watched as everything seemed to slow down when her gaze fixed on Ron.

His already pale face turned alabaster white, his eyes darted between her convulsing form and the large, magical spider charging towards her and back again. His conflicted gaze seemed almost manic as it flickered between his childhood fear and his crush for several precious moments of indecision. Finally, his terror of spiders seemed to engulf him completely.

Ron turned tail and ran.

By then her world was one large hazy cloud as the poison attacked her aggressively paralyzing and numbing her. She couldn't even dredge up enough energy to feel betrayed by Ron's abandonment let alone call after him. All of this happened in a few mere moments, rather than the hours it felt like as time defied her senses.

Hermione was aware that she was being dragged backwards across the grey stone leaving a large bloody streak to mark her direction. As she was being dragged away, her lungs finally seized and stopped working, suffocating her. Hermione's world slowly faded to black as one by one her organs shut down, her mind and awareness succumbing last of all.

Through the final moments before she completely surrendered to unconsciousness, the last of her mind held only one question.

 _Where was Harry?_

* * *

When Hermione next awoke, it wasn't to the fanged jaws of an acromantula but a rather disorienting floating on nothing. The young witch supposed that this was what was considered an 'out of body' experience as she could see her body below her looking horrific and something that belonged in gothic horror novel. She was suspended in air. And yet at the same time she was still in her body. The sensation added to the dreamlike state.

A faint silver glowing spectral form floated into her periphery and caught her attention in full, drawing her gaze away from chaos below. Helena Ravenclaw hovered over her with an unreadable expression. The witch did not know how to interpret it. Hermione supposed that the Gray Lady being a Ravenclaw had given her less grounds to accurately decipher her intent. Unlike the Slytherins, who hid their emotions for political purposes and yet gave themselves away with small tells. If she analyzed the Hufflepuffs she found that they, like the Gryffindors, wore both their emotions and hearts on their sleeves and were thus equally easy read. Helena Ravenclaw however wore an expression to she could not interpret.

The House of Knowledge was the one she spent the least amount of time with, ironically since she was in academic competition with it the most and logically should have had them down to a tee. Unfortunately between her competitive spirit blinding her and the haughtiness of the Ravenclaws, the simply task was considerably more problematic for her to get a cold read on them than even the Slytherins. And as a true Ravenclaw, this particular ghostly lady became virtually unreadable for the intelligent witch.

Hermione wanted to speak out, and tried to, and found herself still frozen. Apparently acromantula venom could paralyze even the spiritual realm.

She watched as the Gray Lady floated toward her where she lingered a moment longer is though contemplating something. To Hermione's mind she looked like she was thinking very hard, on what was a mystery.

The small pause actually afforded the witch time to actually take in her ghostly company's appearance. Though dulled as expected of a ghost, her attire spoke of her wealthy origins and the medieval age from which she hailed. She wore a beautiful long kirtle that strongly reminded Hermione of the painting of Guinevere and Lancelot by Herbert James Draper. And as she watched with each passing moment, the teen realized that the finery seemed to grow more luxurious and befitting of the aristocracy and made an indelible impression in her mind. Instantly Hermione was reminded of the now animated suits of armour and the literary romantic buried in her mind awoke with a vengeance and imagined all of the various tales and myths she'd absorbed in her reading. However before her mind could become carried away, her ghostly companion acted.

The next moment Helena knelt next to the paralyzed teen and poked two fingers into her forehead. It was only then that the witch realized she was still in the same position of her fallen body. The thought though was neither here nor there as she slowly faded out of sight.

Rowena's daughter looked on as the Gryffindor girl finally disappeared, slowly standing up and looking around. Her beloved castle and prison was in ruins and the scene of a battle, the likes of which had not been fought since the very founding of the school. The sight caused her to look down at the gory scene below. The young witch's physical remains had been abandoned by the monstrous eight-legged terror for another larger, juicier set of prey. That small consolation still did nothing for the cooling carcass of the child that should have belonged to her mother's house.

Not matter. What was done was done and the matter should be resolved shortly. She to then faded from the scene. As she would be accompanying the girl for a while longer, she was needed elsewhere. Hogwarts would take care of the rest. And with that the Gray Lady too faded from sight.

* * *

When the world deigned to fade back into existence Hermione awoke to find herself lying on a polished marble floor. The black stone was polished so well that it almost reflected her bewilderment like a mirror. The white veins streaked through it like bolts of lightning and seemed to glow all on their own.

She looked around trying to take in her surroundings with little success. Aside from the stone floor, there was little in the way of anything familiar. Darkness engulfed the ceiling in an all-consuming blackness that was somehow upheld by alabaster Grecian columns that mysteriously vaulted up from the marbled floor. To Hermione's eyes it looked as though the white veins converged on the base of each pillar.

One vein she followed led her to a somewhat familiar sight. And for a moment she wondered how she missed such an obvious specter.

Off to the side, glowing softly like starlight, was the Gray Lady. She was simply standing there keeping vigil over the young witch and making no moves from her place. The grave expression on the silent lady's face seemed both sad and cautionary.

However, that was all she could take note of as her vision was arrested by the converging wisps of blackness that coalesced into an indistinct figure cloaked in shadows and darkness and held a great reaping scythe that arced behind the Entity, framing it like the crescent moon. The long handle was as black as the night and the great harvesting blade glowed faintly with its own light. Death it seemed had physically manifested before her. Hermione had not time to marvel at the sight.

" _Mine patience with thee hath grown thin."_

Hermione jerked up as the statement thundered around her, resonating through her very being. Her entire body shook and for a moment she almost feared her bones would shatter, they were rattling so hard. The Gryffindor felt fear spike through her for the first time. A real, knee-knocking, teeth chattering fear.

"Why am I here?" She tried very hard to ignore the way her was several octaves too high, or the fact it wobbled as her tongue seemed to trip over itself.

" _For the Greater Good."_ The words of the ancient Roman poet Horace and The Great War's poet Wilfred Owen fell from the entity's mouth and seemingly twisted into something else entirely which sent shivers up Hermione's spine.

The words had never sounded so ominous to Hermione's ears. They sounded almost benevolent and justified coming from Professor Dumbledore, but now… her mind raced again at the thought of the elderly deceased headmaster. Or rather several threads of facts pertaining to him that she seemingly soaked up at random suddenly clicked into place like a Tetris puzzle and suddenly he seemed less benevolent and more manipulative. He had admitted as much, or rather Aberforth Dumbledore had, that the man had associated with Gellert Grindelwald, a known Dark Wizard who had used that exact same phrase and justification in his great campaign during the 1940's. During the second World War. Her encyclopedic brain went into overdrive as she began to piece small theories together and it all added up to one large horrific picture.

 _No._

 _It couldn't be._ Hermione looked up to the Deathly Incarnation with pleading eyes begging it silently to refute her revelations. The Reaper passively returned her gaze from the depths of its hood. And in that she understood that it would not grant her mercy from her own epiphanies.

Until that moment she had believed that everything they had done was for the benefit of all. With the vanquishing of Voldemort, everything in the wizarding world was supposed to be corrected, right?

" _Thou doth not knoweth what thine actions has't wrought."_ The irritated condescension that dripped from the statement rankled something in Hermione, or may it pricked her pride? She was so used to being acknowledged as The Brightest Witch of the Age and the respect that came with the title and yet here she was sneered at by a supernatural entity as though she was on the same level as Crabbe or Goyle.

The last thought smacked of superiority and such pervasive vanity that it slapped Hermione in the face. Here she was proud of her own humility, hard work, and earned knowledge and yet she was finding that she was sporting the same sort of mindset that she always loathed in Draco Malfoy and Purebloods of his ilk. It was humiliating and simultaneously humbling in the same instant.

Her thoughts leaped from that vein of thought to her parents, a sensitive topic that she tried to ignore for Harry and the mission's sake. With the bitter lesson of hindsight latching onto her with a tenacity that she aimed towards her own studies, she reevaluated her actions towards the two people who loved her regardless of her status, abilities, and had always been her support. They had always focused on her, unlike the selfishness of Harry and especially Ron. Harry was always wrapped up in some personal drama of some sort whereas Ron was just simply problematic.

Her grief struck her head on like a lorry and utterly horrified the witch with the knowledge that they now had no way of protecting themselves, especially now she had taken all their memories and sent them packing to Australia. Her parents who wouldn't know her if she walked right up to the and introduced herself. Her very same parents, who though they had not understood the magical society to the same degree she had simply because they didn't have magic had loved and trusted her regardless.

And yet she listened to Harry, who trusted almost no one but his puppeteer Albus Dumbledore, and kept secrets and lied to her parents. She stole their lives from them. The magnitude of what she willingly gave up for her friendship that would never be returned on the same level, because Harry had never known love and family the way she had and, and…

Suddenly the entirety of the vast stores of knowledge she'd learnt over her short lifetime and stored in her highly intellectual brain attacked her with a vengeance and suddenly the justification of her actions being for their own good seemed pitiful and highhanded. As if she knew better… Hermione crumpled to her knees as if the weigh t of her action had physically manifested and was too heavy for her to bear, which it might have well been.

Her audience simply looked on. The Gray Lady was moved to sympathy and feelings for the first since her death. Her own remorse at her actions while living allowed her to understand the teen on a level that only shared experience could match. The Reaper in contrast was unmoved in the slightest.

Death had no sympathy for the girl and advanced its agenda forward, leaving absolutely no time for Hermione to renew her grief. The entity was at the end of its admittedly near endless patience with this entire situation. So much wasted time and lives could have been averted because of this one witch and now it was all for naught.

In its own way the Reaper was doing her a kindness though it would not seem so to her. Death was not the only being in play after all. If action was not taken now, she would be at the mercy of the Fates, and that was unacceptable as the Fates were utterly unforgiving and relentless. And even though Hermione Granger was not completely culpable in this entire Gordian Knot, hers was a situation that could resolve quite a bit of the problems. It was not as satisfactory as say hanging Dumbledore by his berries or smacking some _**much-needed**_ sense into that living boy puppet, but it would have do.

" _Thou shouldst ha'st been a Ravenclaw, Fate hast decre'd t so,"_ the pronouncement broke the teen from her mien and had she looking up sharply, only to be caught in a piercing look. Death pinned Hermione with a menacing glare causing her to shrink in on herself, _"Howev'r, as the v'ry future hath been so alt'r'd beyond recognition, yon all shall come to naught, save by thy removal."_

Hermione's intelligence and lightning quick mind, once again made short work of her emotions and drummed up a logical argument with several counterpoints added for good measure. She was not going anywhere, Harry needed her and she needed to help him defeat Voldemort. Logically it was unfair because she was only following the Headmaster's orders. She was fighting the good fight, so then why was it so, so wrong that Death itself felt the need for her removal for their victory to be necessary?

Hermione opened her mouth to argue as panic, anger and fear motivated her into acting, shaking off her stupor. Panic because their task set for them by Professor Dumbledore was yet unfinished, anger at this unexpected censure, and fear because she did not know what was to come, nor where it was she was even being sent. Hermione never had a chance to retort as the being seemed to have little patience for her and refused to allow her to have a word in edgewise.

" _Thou has't nay choice, 'twill beest so. Hopefully thee shall gain some wisdom…and thy owe thoughts."_ And so it was said with a finality and authority that was irrefutable.

The Entity struck the polished floors with the end of its scythe with such force that its echo rumbled through the space and beyond like thunder rolling through the storm. The white veins of the marble seemed to glow and then shimmer and flicker like starlight. Sparks erupted from where the handle struck and shot upwards in a geyser of eerie blue flames and white sparks.

In one swift movement the shadow cloaked figure butted her with the end of its staff with a meaty thwack and sent her flying into the blinding geyser of flames and sparks. The brightness of the light blinded her and she slammed her eyes shut.

" _This is thy lasteth chance."_

Even as her vision once again failed her, Hermione heard the parting words with crystalline the underlying warning they held. Sweet darkness edged into her vision as she seemed to both burn and freeze equally in the same moment and then fall at stomach turning speed.

The last thing Hermione heard was and almost inaudible good luck from Helena Ravenclaw before darkness overwhelmed her for the final time.

* * *

 _To Be Continued…_

* * *

A/N: Howdy, welcome to my offering after being ambushed by the plot bunny ninja. They are very inconvenient and annoying, I tell you.

Sooo, after being thoroughly entertained by the engaging and energetic _**Wild Flower**_ by **Katie MacPherson** , this plot pulled some maneuvers worthy of Olenna Tyrell and thoroughly thwarted my attempts to return to my other unfinished bits of Ficts. Pushy Tyrells (*grumbles*)…

…

*Edit: Thank you reviewer Sadie. Your review actually had me grinning like the troll I am. You are correct of course, my Shakespearean sucks (but it was tongue in cheek too), I wasn't taking it seriously and using a rather crappy translator on LingoJam. Oh well.

...

So, Deathly Shakespeare…

 _ **Translation:**_ That's _IT_! I've had it up to here! You didn't think of the consequences of your actions _(Fool! You ain't God, you, you mortal!)._

First of all, you should have been a Ravenclaw _(you idjit! Why the Hell did you settle for Gryffindor?)_ , Fate had decreed _it (they are mean! It's totally annoying dealing with them. Do you know how many migraines they gave me because of you?_ ). However, the future has changed so much that its unrecognizable _(basically everyone is screwed)_. It's so screwed up that only your removal might save it _(girlie, starters like you losing us the game? EPIC FAIL! FYI, it's all your fault! *angry eyes*)_.

You have no choice, it's happening. With any luck you'll gain some wisdom _(maybe)_ , and perhaps have individual thoughts _(though I doubt it)_. This is your last chance ( _you better not screw this up!_ _ **Or Else**_ _!_ ***it's even underlined and in bold, it's** _ **that**_ **important!** ).

 _-Nice dude right? Totally sincere and not sarcastic at all, nope, utterly sincere…_

OceFossa 12/17/16


	2. Ripples

**The Lords Paramount**

By

OceFossa

…

Plot © OceFossa

A Song of Ice and Fire © George R.R. Martin

Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling

…

 **Chapter 2: Ripples**

…

Harry blinked several times as if he awoke from a dream. He stared in disbelief as his mind tried to work once more. His awareness heightened by adrenaline The disorienting quiet lasted only for a few moments before reality came crashing back to him.

Everything he knew was a lie. That was if what Snape had showed him was true. It was almost inconceivable though. That man he hated with a passion and whom loathed him in return had no reason to lie to him other than spite, and yet…

However, the teen wizard stopped his thoughts right then when the purpose of the entirety of his journey with Hermione and Ron burst to the forefront of his mind. No, no _he_ had a job to do. Not Ron. And not Hermione. He, Harry Potter, did.

Hermione had been with him the entire journey. Now he needed to take this path alone. The more selfish part of him that had been jealous of his best friend's magical abilities urged him to prove that he too was worth a mention.

Harry picked himself up from the floor of Professor Dumbledore's office and gave the great pensieve one last cursory glance. His mind a whirl of thoughts about everything he had just seen. And then as they quieted his features set in a resolved mien.

Whether it was a lie or not, he had a job to do. And that was to die. Hopefully his friends would take care of the rest. At least he could count on Hermione picking up his fight for him if they were wrong. When he didn't return, he was sure that the world would still be safely in her hands.

* * *

Unfortunately for the ignorant wizard said witch was far, far away in a burning haze of heat and cold. After the Incarnate of Death had basically chucked her through a portal of some kind without so much as a by your leave she felt like she had been falling for an eternity.

While her senses warred between freezing and burning, there was little time to think of anything else. As much as her vaunted mind had been celebrated and her logic allowed her to notice details beyond the emotions of the moment, there was only so much she could take before even her consciousness could muster beyond what she was feeling. The pain of heat and cold flared up intermittently through her and she was fairly sure she was being torn apart if not in pieces already. It was agonizing and she couldn't gather the will to even groan.

The witch was dimly aware that beyond her haze of pain, she could make out the flickering colors of red blue and, oddly enough, black wisps. Her imagination conjured up enough images in the furthest recess of her mind to paint a picture of the tails of comet. The shock of the image brought he to full awareness and for an instant she could forget being ripped to shreds.

Because, now that her mind had what it needed to regain full control, she could see that she herself was a comet jetting through the darkness. She was the white glowing epicenter as sparks of ice blue and fiery red and black wisps that brought the picture of Death's cloak to the forefront of her thought all trailing behind her indeed like Hale Bopp's tail.

Just as she conjured the great comet, it seemed as though the roaring and pain of her descent ebbed away and she was left simply free falling. Leaving Hermione caught in the strange situation. Luckily for her, it seemed that something or someone had taken pity upon her because she was no longer burning or had somehow gotten used to the pain. Up until then she had not had time to process what had happened as everything rushed by her far too quickly for her to process. Even now, when her mind was beginning to work again, it was still a far way off coherent thought.

Perhaps now that her mind was in control her other senses were working again. Or perhaps it was the fact her mind was no longer blinded by pain, but she could see once more. There was not the interminable blackness of before. Nor was she completely wreathed in light and clashing sparks. However, Hermione was indeed astonished to note offhandedly that she was still somewhat glowing. Her full attention had been arrested by the amazing sight she was rocketing towards.

Many colored lights, like the stars she viewed in the skies above the Astronomy Tower, began to twinkle out of the blackness below her. It vaguely reminded Hermione of the pictures her father had brought home for her of images taken of earth from the satellites above.

Her speed seemed to increase ever so slightly. Just enough for a part of her mind to notice but nothing as jarring as before. As it was she was completely focused on the sight ahead of her. With each passing moment she rocketed closer to the colorful starry clusters. She was able to make out different colors within the dominant constellations. They still flickered in a way that firmly planted the image of starlight in her mind.

Lights shone in greater and lesser intensities and looked almost like the cities of those images. And they were rushing towards her as she fell. As she came closer, she began noticing the different patterns, sizes of the constellations, and strangely enough the colors that somehow signified each set of stars belonged to one area.

Hermione had a random thought as to how convenient that would be back home when they were learning the night skies. One of the sections below flared a bit and changed color drawing her attention.

She did notice that each pattern tended towards one color over the other creating great swathes of stars dominated by one color. The one far to her left was a bright crimson, the shade of her Gryffindor House. At the same time she sensed a coldness and something forbidding that made her instinctively shrink away from it. Whereas opposite of it was an almost sickly shade of red that flickered between a dirty yellow and back again. It was not healthy in the slightest.

Caught between the two warring red constellations was one that had various blue colors. By all rights it should have been the most breathtaking as it glittered like the surface of a lake. And yet, there was attached to it the feelings of anxiety, wariness, and caution. All of which were underlined by an alert, scheming panic. Abutting it was an almost complimentary baby blue constellation. It twinkled a little more brightly than the others, and at the same time felt tired and strangely manic. What she was somehow sensing from the different colored sections of stars was so far different from what she normally associated with the colors back home, that it was unnerving and caused her hackles to rise as well as putting her on alert. Something just seemed off with all four and she wanted no part of them.

Hermione allowed her gaze to be drawn away from the disturbing colors to the cool stars above them. Th largest area in the greatest region though sparsely lit, was a chilling set of lights that clashed with the brilliant white hovering over it. Its color was muted and she couldn't tell if it was a grey or white. The constellations that were both greater and lesser than the others felt…lost. The witch frowned over what she was sensing. The emotions she was feeling from it was muddled at best and directionless, purposeless even. For a moment Harry popped into her mind before she pushed the image of her best friend away. She would think on him later. It took her an almost herculean effort to refocus her attention back on the starry constellations she had been studying, all the while falling closer to them all. At least it shone more vibrantly than its neighbor constellations.

Included was the strangely lit cluster located just under it that buffeted between the great gray and crimson lights. Impossibly it gave off vibes of being even more off than the sickly areas Hermione had subconsciously rejected.

Her eyes traveled to the three bottom most star-like clusters. These felt much healthier than the others, at least that was how Hermione could describe it. The bright orange at the bottom most region felt fiery in every sense. An at the same time it had an undercurrent of sorrow, grief and a thirst for vengeance.

Whereas the golden cluster above it was just a plain mess of clashing emissions. They were gay, cold, calculating, celebratory, riotous and many more that just made her head spin. Even the gold that should have been comparatively vibrant to the Hufflepuff yellow was muted and varying with the clashing emotions cancelling the other.

And finally, her eyes fell on the greatest of them, the brilliant green constellation. It was the second largest in size and while she would have almost equated the color to the Slytherin House, it was vibrant, alive and thriving. All of the wrong emotions for the house of the snakes, and very much more welcoming than any of the others she had gotten readings from. Stranger still was the fact it was the most strongly lit of the lot. Of the entire colored sky, save for several independent spots in each cluster, it shone the brightest and was the most welcoming. The stars within the constellation only flickered briefly with another color before returning to the living green of the whole.

It was the alive, thriving feeling the green was emitting that drew her like Crookshanks to a sunny napping spot. It was almost irresistible.

Unconsciously she drew towards it, liking the feel of this particular area and glad that she felt something different to the torment of her earlier experience. In fact the closer she drew to it, the better she felt. Simply put she began feeling more whole and alive as the warmth seemed to heal a part of her, in turn Hermione sensed that she was returning to being herself.

Just as she neared it enough, Hermione had the realization that she was not looking at stars at all, but rather something else. However, the epiphany was waylaid by the green light growing in strength and become ringed in a golden halo seemed to bloom up from below her. Golden tendrils visibly stretched up towards the Gryffindor and caressed her gently, wrapping around her, drawing her into the green stars without her noticing. Hermione knew that she was feeling complete again and very grounded. The world around her suddenly grew brighter as the golden light intensified and she found herself snapping her eyes shut and covering them as the world simply became blinding.

It was only later when she thought over the entire occurrence that Hermione vowed to get to the root of why she was feeling emotions from a group of lights. And the fact that what she first thought were constellations looked eerily like the outlines of a continent.

* * *

Harry himself was dumbfounded to the point he stood still for a moment and looked in disbelief at the spot where Voldemort had been. He then looked down at the wand in his hand for a long moment before blankly returning his gaze to the spot where his long time enemy and arch nemesis had been. The entire situation left him in something of a stupefied state.

After everything. After the incredible Horcrux hunt. After discovering Professor Dumbledore had intended for him to be a sacrificial lamb. After being hit for a second time with the killing curse and having one last discussion with his mentor. After returning to consciousness and playing dead. After having his final climatic duel with an opponent who still outclassed him, even with one seventh of his soul. After all that. It was finished.

It was done. He was done.

It was just…inconceivable. Indeed, he was tempted to dismiss it and yet it was true. They had done it. No, no, he had done the impossible. He had done it. Voldemort was gone.

He was free. _He was free!_

Suddenly Harry let out a joy filled laugh that ended in a whoop. Only to be startled when he found other voices joined in his celebration. He looked around and saw the battered and dirty Hogwarts defenders had joined him at the site where the final confrontation had taken place. And he was surrounded by friendly faces, victorious.

As raucous cheers went up over their decisive victory, Harry looked around. His green eyes landing upon one sight that never looked so beautiful. Even in all of her grief stricken, dirt smudged glory. The relief he felt upon seeing Ginny, his crush, was palpable. Something unknotted in him and everything looked that much brighter. Suddenly he couldn't think of anything else other than confirming that she was alive.

Harry practically raced towards her and caught her up in an ardent kiss, taking the young redhead by surprise. It was amongst the catcalls and wolf whistles that the teens reunited. And they stayed together and stole away once the crowds broke off to fix the castle, assess damages, and account for their casualties.

It wasn't until the next day, after spending the entire evening in Ginny's arms where the pair of young lovers fell asleep exhausted from the trials of the day prior, that he remembered everything else. His mind was simply not his own as he took the comfort he wanted from the girl he lusted after. Nothing else entered his mind other than sweet relief at being done with his task and a soothing kind of reassurance that being in Ginny's arms provided.

Harry woke up sometime in the middle of the night. The weight of Ginny's body against his kept him in place. Rather he simply lay there, back against the tree they had claimed as their own, and quietly watched the moonlight glint across the lake. His active mind would not let him enjoy the serenity for long.

It was over. Voldemort was gone. His entire life had revolved around this one issue. Had been devoted to it even as per Professor Dumbledore's wishes. And against all odds he survived. However by the same token he was totally lost, directionless, purposeless even. That begged the question what now?

The question plagued his mind until sheer exhaustion and the comforting warmth of Ginny's heat lulled him back to sleep. He decided as he succumbed that the question could wait until morning.

Wait it did because when they finally had returned to the castle, after sleeping under the stars by the lake, the hour being closer to noon. Immediately both resolved to begin helping return the castle to its former state after they'd had a good mean and that he personally had returned to reality in full.

Harry found that in the light of this new day that his emotions no longer completely driving his actions and he could think clearly for the first time in what felt like an eternity. However, it took another sight to jog his muddled memory, fogged by sleep and hunger and trying to figure out what was going on where he should go from there.

Indeed, it wasn't until he saw one of the illusive Hogwarts house elves bringing in platters of food for those working on the castle that his mind remembered something. Or rather someone. And then it was like a light bulb went off and all of his problems would be solved in on go. It was so easy and simple he felt like facepalming.

Of course, Hermione had all the answers. She would definitely help him. Where was she? He needed her. She was so good at providing him with easy and right answers and helping him solve his problems. She would make it easy for him to decide. So, he turned to Ginny and asked, "Where's Hermione?"

* * *

As the golden light dimmed, Hermione's next memory was of the conscious world around her simply materializing into a green and gold version of Death's Halls. The marbled floor on which she found herself lying face down was a veritable rainbow of greens with golden veins threaded through it. She picked up her head and looked around noting the light mist that covered the hall causing it look slightly hazy.

The wry part of her mind wondered if she was doomed to forever be waking up from traumatic experiences in unfamiliar places. Of course, that was after she was thrown about like a rag doll by incensed entities.

Her head pounded something awful and she clutched at it in a futile effort stop the pain. That, however had not helped in the slightest. With no other recourse she slowly dragged herself up to her elbows and then sat on her knees and finally wobbled to her feet. Paradoxically the pain lessened as she righted herself.

The witch had no time to marvel at her discovery as a presence suddenly loomed out of the air causing Hermione to jump back. Her entire body alert as it had been when she was in the thick of the fighting. Her hand was reflexively at the ready before she could consciously realize that she no longer had her wand.

"Peace, I mean no harm." A deep, earthy voice wizened with age implored her.

Hermione wasn't so sure of that. Her senses were going haywire with the power rolling off the visitor. She could feel the sheer strength of his magic. It was, for lack of a better term, alive. She couldn't help but connect it to the feelings that were emanating from the green constellation she had sensed earlier during her fall.

Once her sensory perception stopped overwhelming her, she took in her companion and was utterly taken aback by him. The height alone had her stepping back, the man was well over six feet, closer towards seven and he could easily overpower her. He was also undeniably masculine in a way that she could only associate distantly with Viktor Krum, and most definitely not any of the English Wizards she was around daily. Not Ron or Harry, that was for sure. Everything about the man, because this was a man and not just another teenage male, spoke of power.

He was also eerily attractive. Not in the boyish way of Cedric Diggory or several of the fashionable celebrities of Witch Weekly, but in the way of a man fully aware of himself and confident in a way that was untamed by the feminine ideal that were neutering most males of her acquaintance. He was also wearing something she'd only ever seen at a renaissance fair, museum tours through the various ancient Chateau, the Edinburgh museums she toured with her parents, or the various Keeps sprinkled across Britain. But none more so than the effigy carved on William Marshal, 1st Earl of Pembroke's tomb at Temple Church in London.

He had the look of a man who had lived through harsh times. His features, despite their initial beauty were worn and weathered. His hair, which at first appeared glossy, simply shone with good health. He seemed to glow a little, though Hermione supposed that that was likely a trick of the light.

What she kept coming back to was his manner of dress. It fact once she was able to set aside her awe of the rather impressive set of armour he was wearing especially since it looked authentic and high quality, and not to mention lived in, she considered that he looked like he belonged the twelfth century or there about. To set off this odd appearance was the fact he had flowers, of all things, woven into his curiously long hair. The effect was rather jarring. Especially since she couldn't reconcile it with the Victorian paintings of King Arthur's court, such as her favorite work portraying the lady bestowing her favour on a knight by Edmund Blair Leighton, or even the illuminations from the manuscripts of William Marshal's life she had been privileged to view.

Through it all, one glaring fact stood out to the teenage witch that she remained highly aware of. She was unarmed and if he decided he she was a threat he would definitely have the overwhelming advantage. He moved like an experienced fighter. The...knight...was at the moment seemed far more interested in studying her, though. The keen intelligence she glimpsed in his watchful eyes belied the fact that he was not another muscle head, like the quidditch team. In the end she could only conclude that everything about this man was a contradiction.

Hermione's rational mind went into overdrive as she finally began finding her feet again, and was faced with something, or someone who was a little more concrete and seemed like they'd allow her a word in edgewise. Unfortunately for them she didn't simply want one word. And she didn't want to be tossed through another portal again without some answers at the very least.

"Who are you? What are you? Did you call me here? Where is here exactly? Where am I?"

His laughter cut off the torrent of questions, even as Hermione actually glared at his rude response. He was acting like Ron!

"I was expecting, well, not you." Even as he spoke in a most courtly manner, the blunt condescension coating the words contradicted any pretense of polite society and courtesy, "Women especially are useless."

The utterly misogynistic comment completely infuriated and incensed Hermione to the point she actually began seeing red. She had not spent the last six years of her life trying to prove her worth to indolent academic bums like Harry Potter, sloths like Ronald Weasely, or even sexist chauvinists like Draco Malfoy. _She_ was smart and hardworking, and loyal, and if nothing else she _deserved_ respect for simply keeping Harry alive, especially with his 'Saving People' thing!

Her thoughts, normally under strict control, bubbled uncontrollably especially considering the traumatizing events preceding her arrival to this strange dreamlike place. That it had just happened to her simply added fuel to her temper which chased away all of her previous caution and reservations. Hermione tried to murder him with her thoughts and it shone in the fierce glinting of her eyes.

 _Really_ , the logical portion of her mind scolded her, _she shouldn't have been surprised considering all that she observed in his dress and manners as well as his patterns of speech. The man was positively medieval._

And he was. Her heckler was obviously from another era. One that held vastly different values and beliefs that warred with her Victorian influenced notions of chivalry and honor. Those ideals clashed jarringly with her knowledge of everything post the Norman Conquest and the Battle of Hastings. Even so, after everything that she'd read on knights and the royals courts, she had somehow thought one looking like them would act better.

More…chivalrous.

And she would know. Hermione upon reading Hogwarts, A History and finding out that they were indeed attending a magical school in a real live castle, had gone off on something of an Arthurian episode which amused her parents greatly. She had spent countless hours researching everything she could get her hands on about castles, knights and courtly ladies.

To say she was greatly disappointed though when she found her school list only called for wizarding robes was an understatement. Her brief fantasies of running around a great keep in Guinevere inspired dresses had suffered a tragically sudden death on the sword of reality. Add to the fact the robes they didn't even resemble the beautiful kirtles depicted in all of the classical medieval illuminations or her favorite pre-Raphaelite painters had left her somewhat put out. However she rallied, like she always did from a disappointment, and dove into her books choosing to soothe her injured imagination with real magic instead.

Paradoxically it was the sheer lethality of her feminine fury fueled glare that seemed to further amuse this so called 'knight' even further, though he wisely kept any following comments to himself. Indeed her immediate and fiery response seemed to please him. He then did what she had been expecting his to do in the first place and acknowledge her with a courtly bow and introduced himself with an equally gallant flourish. Neither of which curried her favour and thus forgiveness.

"Forgive me, I was known as Garth the Green."

Eyeing his attire, which she now noticed was indeed made up of various shades of his namesake's color, she acknowledged that it was a fitting moniker. Not that she relaxed in the slightest. She was the one trapped in this strange place after all and wouldn't let her guard down for even a moment. However, she also caught his words. Hermione being who she was simply couldn't help herself even if she tried.

Her inquisitive mind took precedence over all other priorities and spoke before she could muffle it, "was?"

He opened his hands as if it was the most obvious fact in the world. _Well it wasn't_ her common-sense butted in, "I am here now am I not? If I was amongst the living, another would have met you."

"I wouldn't know, being as I didn't exactly have a choice in coming," she shot back. Ron and Harry weren't the only ones who could hold grudges after all.

"None of us do, when death decides it is our time," the earnestness of his reply was at odds with his earlier snub, he then paused and eyed her thoughtfully, "So you are the one who will be my descendant?"

"What?" he then looked at her in disbelief.

"Do you not understand the boon you've been granted?" Hermione thought the tone of the question was incredibly unfair. She was after all, the one thrown through the portal after being gutted by an acromantula. Death had been far more interested in berating her than actually explaining anything to her.

"What are you talking about?"

"Life, a second life. One that will happen through my line." She gave him blank look.

Was he referencing the Hindi belief of being reborn into countless lives? Her logical mind reasserted itself with this new assumption of fact and reorganized her thoughts on her companion accordingly. Was she speaking to a man who lived during the time of the Crusades? It seemed likely especially based on his dress. She knew for a fact and based upon her research that they, the crusaders, would have been exposed to the Silk Road and Oriental ideology along with various religious beliefs from the traders alone.

"I'm sorry, but you are talking nonsense." She didn't believe in reincarnation any more than she believed in Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. Finally it seemed this 'Garth' person was assured of the fact that she had no prior knowledge of the topic he was referring to.

In turn Garth found himself perplexed by this girl. Strange really, because he would have thought that his very name would have been the tip enough for her to know know who she was speaking to. Not only that but had she recognized his name that specifically would have been the clue she needed to understand her present location and his own importance. there was no way around this fact seeing as how he was as intricately tied to Westeros as Bran the Builder or Lann the Clever. And yet she knew absolutely nothing. Her ignorance insulted him. He was _not_ a forgettable figure unlike Dunk the Clunk or whatever that Hedge Knight's name was.

"It seems you've neglected your education."

Hermione's temper spiked. The man had just accused her of the most cardinal of all sins in her book and it was an accusation that she was _highly_ offended by. _She_ didn't take her education seriously _. Really?_ The witch prided herself on being the most academically as well as magically talented student to attend Hogwarts since Tom Riddle, and Albus Dumbledore before him. She shot back in a tone she used when Ron, and occasionally Harry, was being his most miserable and an utter blockhead.

"It's _you_ who are speaking nothing but _rubbish_." She was not the one in the wrong of that she was convinced. While Hermione was still unsure of as to what exactly their topic was, she was not the one speaking gibberish. Nothing was adding up.

"I do not speak folly," he returned in kind. His reply held an infuriating certainty of his own knowledge and correctness in his pronouncement, "was it not to my house that you were most drawn to?"

It was a strange question to Hermione's way of thinking. _Was he a progenitor of some kind?_ Because unless this man had a serious god-complex not unlike Voldemort then it was the only logical explanation. He was eyeing her again, something she was beginning to notice with alarming frequency, in a most disconcerting way.

"House? Like Hogwarts and Gryffindor House?" Hermione was perfectly serious, which didn't make her feel any better when in a single look her companion reduced her to feeling like an ignorant slug. Nor did the disappointed look that crossed his features.

"Well, not much for intelligence." He commented with a put upon sigh "But then again, women don't really use their minds now do they? 'Tis but a cunt and a womb like any other. You are pretty enough for a commoner I suppose."

The comment was so Draco Malfoy at his crudest as well as Ron at his most daft, that Hermione practically growled. And even though this Garth person was a good foot or two taller than she and heavily armoured, that didn't stop her from lashing out. Her magic simply reacted to her anger and attacked.

Garth was sent flying backwards and roughly landed with crunch of his armour. The sheer force of the strike sent him skidding backwards several feet across the floor. A small corner of Hermione's mind irrelevantly noticed that some of the flowers decorating his hair scattered as well. Her anger was still palpable as the room thrummed with her magic.

He lay so still that she would have almost believed him dead, however by then Hermione was beyond caring. He had insulted her in every possible manner and she wanted her pound of flesh. The medieval man began to stir and then quickly he rolled to his feet, looking only slightly rumpled after his impromptu flight. A same small corner of her mind that seemed devoted to noticing the absurd pointed out how unfair it was that he still looked rather untouched.

Garth fearlessly strode towards her stopping only when he was several feet away and quite intimidating as he loomed over her. Still incensed, Hermione drew herself to her full height, still a full head or two shorter than he was, and her hair seemed to frizz with the magic she was emanating. She was unaware that she had begun to glow ever so slightly and that her brown eyes were alight with anger and her lowered reservations towards violence. He did though.

With her mind still clouded by her anger, Hermione all but snarled at 'Garth' letting him have it. "Just because I have no knowledge of where I am, doesn't mean you are automatically superior to me in anyway, you vile, disgusting ignoramus."

His response though was odd and not at all what she expected. At first his shoulder slightly shook. Then she heard a deep rumble form from his chest. Finally Garth the Green threw back his head and guffawed loudly. He laughed. _Laughed!_ As though they had just shared one of the greatest jokes ever. Whatever set him off was apparently knee-slapping worthy because the man was hunched over and doing just that. Finally, he calmed down enough to continue speaking, though his speech was punctuated by his chortling.

A different look entered his eye when she finally cared enough to noticed, which admittedly took a rather large chunk of time due to her _still_ being righteously angry at the indignity and dismissal she had been subjected to. What she saw somewhat stalled her anger and any further action on her part. There was an identifiable gleam of respect and amazement in his look that hadn't been there previously. It didn't take her but a moment to piece together _why_ that was.

Violence and magic, her willingness to use both, and simple might seemed to be what garnered her respect in this place as opposed to her intelligence and skills. It was a slightly bitter realization for the bookworm.

"At last." There was a tone of relief and no small amount of pleasure threaded through the words as Garth seemed to breath them, "At last one who is worthy of The Blessing."

The man's entire demeanor changed and he seemed almost jubilant. The teen warily stepped back a couple of paces, the changes in conversation happening so quickly that she had mental whiplash, "Death has finally gifted me what I have long sought."

She was having a difficult time following _his_ logic let alone the conversation he seemed to have with himself. Even when she attended Hogwarts which admittedly had quite a few convoluted points on its own she had at least some point of reference, in this place with this man she had none.

"And what is that?" Hermione ventured with a healthy uncertainty. She was rather certain she didn't want to enter any further into this strange rabbit hole any more than she already was.

"An Heir."

 _An heir?_ Hermione must have echoed his words back at him with growing disbelief because Garth himself confirmed that what she had heard him correctly. He continued. "And an heir cannot be weak, shrinking, or craven. You have just shown me that you are none of these. Though perhaps a bit slow to anger. It took much prodding on my part."

The last bit was seemingly tacked on with an odd tone and she sensed that he was quite unsure of what to make of that. Personally, though, Hermione took it as a compliment. That something of her parent's and Grand-mere's lessons that had stuck with her in such a way slightly soothed the part of her still grieving. Being slow to anger made her unable to be manipulated through the hotheaded emotion and a wily, if not clever, opponent when faced.

Hermione frowned darkly as she began to pick apart what he said, "You were testing me."

The witch became slightly distracted even as she spoke, her mind thousands of leagues away. She surprisingly, or not, found the word 'test' to be equally distasteful to mudblood and other foul swear words her parents would have washed he mouth out with a bar of soap for. However, her attention was arrested from its own musing as it was returned to the conversation when Garth answered her, seemingly ignoring her distraction.

"In a manner of speaking. Though perhaps I wasn't expecting such…ferocity."

Hermione opened her mouth to defend herself. And then clamped it shut. Instead she tried a different route.

"Why am I here?"

"The Stranger did not see fit to tell you?"

"It told me nothing, just scolded me as if I had done something wrong and tossed me through a portal." Garth's feature morphed into one of surprise. In the next moment though, his silent query was answered.

Unknown to Hermione, scenes of everything she had done over the years materialized around her. Her punch to Draco Malfoy. Her practicing with the DA. Even on of her studying like a maniac with towers of books surrounding her, everything was shown. They all floated across the mist like pensieve memories. And Garth was gifted with information about the young witch before him. He now had a better idea of who was standing before him. He almost regretted his blunt words to her moments before. But she had been a frozen kitten doing nothing but staring at him and puffing up her hair in the same way a kitten arched its back to look more threatening which she didn't. And the words of the land she was now headed to would be even more crass than the small flippancy he indulged in.

Hermione decided to try her luck once more and fished for answers. "Do you know why I am here?"

"Hush, you will learn in time."Garth silenced her just as Death had. He would not be interrupted or gainsaid by this young woman. She was finally the answer to all of his long-lost wishes. It was then Hermione slowly realized he was not just a ghost or a man. This person, this being, was something more. Instead of providing her answers directly, he provided her with his own reasons, as vague as they were, for desiring her presence.

"I have fathered many seed and yet none have showed even a portion of the talent you possess."

Hermione, still trying to wrap her head around everything listened intently perhaps if she allowed him to ramble she could piece together information form clues he would drop. Garth, though, seemed to have other ideas. The man seemed to grow in presence and power, reminding Hermione of what she first sensed from her visitor. As if by command green and gold wisps seemed to gather before her and merge into a gold encrusted mirror with a green tinted reflective glass. The witch became curious and deathly afraid all in the same moment. It didn't help when she felt the enormous power gathering behind it.

"I shall bless the house to which you are birthed. And all those with whom find favour in your eyes. It is my will and it shall be so. That for as long as the house of your birth dwells in the lands of their ancestors, it too shall heed them and in turn be blessed." Magic was returning to Westeros, he could sense it. And when it did his line, the First Kings, would be leading the rest once more.

Golden mist spewed forth from the greenish glass and enveloped her. Hermione threw up her arms, shielding her face just as the cloud enveloped her. As the fog thickened around her, she faintly heard Garth's voice though it seemed to fade with each word.

"The Gardener Kings shall rule once more."

* * *

 _To Be Continued…_

* * *

A/N: Oh, my Psuedo-Shakespearean Death Reaper? Totally not artificial speech in the lightest. Nope. Not at all...Completely genuine. Yep.

Was fun though. And Hermione thinks too much…(not surprising though)

…

Hmm, this fict's title? The Tyrells own that one, literally. It's an allusion to their status as Overlords over the Reach. The official title bequeathed to them was: The Lords Paramount of the Mander (ie. They are the lords in charge of the main river running through The Reach alongside the Rose Road (look at a map, I'm totally not lying)).

Also, I read somewhere that one of the reasons for G.R.R.'s hatred of Fanfiction is that the titles (and plots) are not very original. Don't ask me where, I dun remember. So in sheer defiance (and totally thumbing my nose at him) I went the very unoriginal title (Score!). I know right? The troll strikes again.

Pushy Tyrells (*grumbles*)…Merry Christmas!

OceFossa 12/18/16, 12/23/16, 12/24/16


	3. The Winter Rose

**The Lords Paramount**

By

OceFossa

…

Plot © OceFossa

A Song of Ice and Fire © George R.R. Martin

Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling

…

 **Chapter 3: The Winter Rose**

…

Snow was lightly falling on the normally lush fields of The Reach. The regional storms were heavier now than they had ever been before. The weather too was cooling and causing the harvests to slow and produce less crops. The lands were browning and dying in response to the change of climate. To the Reachmen this only meant one thing, that their summer harvests were over and that, as the Starks liked to grimly remind others, winter was soon to come upon them.

From her luxurious suites in the keep, the lady watched the midwinter drifts from the comfort of her downy soft bed. A fire was flickering in the hearth and cast a warm glow over the bedroom.

Lady Alerie Tyrell, formerly of the Hightowers of Old Town, quietly nestled the bundle in her arms. The child was mercifully quiet after having made so much racket from being birthed not an hour earlier.

She had never expected to birth another child after her difficulties with Margaery. Her Summer Rose. And especially not as soon as she had. Her little girl was barely a year old and yet an elder sister.

Her elder daughter, whose hair was not quite flame touched, but the color of the setting sun and the high summers of The Reach was showing all the signs of being a beauty. She was a lovely babe and if she made it to adulthood, she would be a beauty unequaled.

It was both satisfying and very gratifying.

Margaery at the very least held some of the Hightower blood in her appearance. Lady Alerie could see it in small hints when she spared her elder infant daughter a few moments of her time during the daily viewing.

This new child, though, bore no resemblance to her elder sister and seemingly carried no trace of the Hightower lineage with which her mother should have graced her. The new mother, in part, resented this revelation. Her own vanity demanded it. Even her three elder sons bore something of the Hightower looks. It would be no great effort on her end that she would be parted with this infant.

This little girl born in the peak of winter, hair as dark or darker than her Lord Husbands with eyes that took after his, she just assumed that would be intuitively. The idea of dull watery brown eyes, if she had to place a bet, coming from a child she bore was almost disgraceful. The Hightower family were carefully and gently bred to be as close to physical perfection and beauty as could be achieved. Of course, they were always bested by the Lannisters in this regard, however that did not stop them continuing their quest for earthly perfection. This little one would no doubt be lovely, especially with the breeding lines intermingled within her, however that as far as she was willing to allow herself.

Lady Alerie resented having to be confined because of this child. She thought she would die during the birth. The pain dwarfed all of her other children combined and she had bled so much the maesters attending her had feared for her life. She had been so sure that the child would be deformed somehow, with how much pain she was causing. The birthing was possibly the most painful she had ever experienced and no doubt would tax her looks if she didn't take care. And above all the babe was a girl. A useless girl, who wasn't even beautiful.

She was also alone. It was the dead of winter. Her husband had not even been in residence at Highgarden. Lord Mace Tyrell had been away, boar hunting or visiting another house or some such activity, when she felt the pains of childbirth come upon her. The point being, unlike all of her other children he was not there. As she saw it, Lady Alerie found every circumstance and sign to be against this child. And thus not worth the thought.

Fortunately for herself, she had already birthed Lord Mace Tyrell four healthy children so if this child ended up succumbing as many children did it would not be a great loss to House Tyrell. Indeed she had done her duty and she now had every expectation that she would live in the luxury she was owed.

The new mother's mind slightly wondered as she focused on the falling snow outside her window. She had bled almost too much and the pain had been beyond even her other children's births and yet once the babe had been birthed, all of her ailments seemed to have miraculously healed. The Hightower's mind snapped back from an fanciful explanations, regardless of the truth of the circumstance it did not mattered. She did not have time to play nursemaid to some squalling nursling. This babe didn't even have the decency to be born male and thus was not worth her already limited time. She was the lady of The Reach.

Lady Alerie was as rigid as her upbringing and birth family's namesake as well as used to luxury alone, knowing nothing less. She married for position and wealth which she achieved and thus giving her family a better position in the aristocratic hierarchy of The Reach. By marrying as she did she was promised a life without want. In return she had to provide a contribution to the ruling family's legacy, which she had now done five times over. And she raised each of them as the Hightowers raised their own.

The Lady did not suffer the burden of the infants, rather as soon as the infant was confirmed as alive, healthy, and without defects; they handed them off to the servants whose purpose was to raise the Lord's progeny as was expected. The Lord nor the Lady were not expected to have to raise a hand in the rearing of their children, rather they would view them and suffer their presence once a week and to enforce loyalties to the family. But head of the family was to be distant, duty-bound, and lordly, not soiling their hands with lowly work. The relationship between the head and his children was to be polite, dutiful, deferential, and above all having protocol observed at all times.

Of course the dowager Lady Tyrell had interfered on several points, such as the weekly viewing being turned into a daily viewing. And had become involved with the elder children, behavior that shocked the Hightower immensely. For a lady as powerful as Olenna Tyrell to lower herself to doing servant's work it was unthinkable. Consequently, Lady Alerie steered clear of the Queen of Thorns and her unnatural behavior, lest she be induced to follow her example.

A crack from the blaze in her bedroom hearth brought Lady Alerie's mind back to the present and her current problem. A name for the babe.

She mulled it over. It would have to be a Hightower worthy name, such as her youngest sister Lynesse before her foolish marriage to a poor Northern Lord or even herself.

Unfortunately, there was a rather large obstacle to her following through on her thought. The domineering witch who was the dowager Lady of the Reach. Her dilemma was name the infant something that her family would acknowledge and accept all the while garnering the approval of the Queen of Thorns. A tall order.

Lady Alerie wasn't blind to the power Lady Olenna wielded, nor the blatant violation of the acceptable actions for a lady of her standing, dowager or no. The current Lady of the Reach did not wish to offend the elder lady either. Her Lord Husband's formidable mother could truly make her life miserable and that was unacceptable.

She wished to enjoy the life and opulence her marriage station had granted her. However, she could not indulge in her entitled due until she solved this problem. The infant stirred ever so slightly in her swaddling cloth and the Lady adjusted her hold accordingly and then stared down at the little girl her mind churning.

To her vain mind, Lady Alerie simply had to put something of herself into the child since the babe inconveniently and rudely showed absolutely nothing of her mother's heritage in her. It was deeply insulting. That was something she could not change. However naming, especially without her lord husband or his family's interference, was another way she could have some say in this child that was hers alone. It would be the only act she was willing to take before she could finally rid herself of the infant.

The little girl moved in her blankets once more causing her mother to frown at the interruption. This child was far too active for an infant. That did not bode well for her peace of mind and for the serenity of the castle. If it had not already been cemented in her mind, the realization solidified her resolve on her course of action. Once the wet nurse was found, the girl would be but a distant memory.

The door swung in and her elder daughter's nursemaid shuffled followed by Highgarden's chief master. The same elderly man who had attended her during the birthing process. In his hands he held a tincture that she had seen similarly before. The man had rather erred on the side of caution and had administered it to her after each of the subsequent births of her elder children. While she personally hadn't noticed any remarkable effects, she had stayed healthy and Lady Alerie supposed it would hurt to indulge the man once last time. After this last birth she was drinking moon tea daily to ensure no other children issued forth from her womb.

Somewhat relieved and with a semblance of a plan in mind, the Lady of the Reach almost carelessly handed her newborn daughter off to the maidservant standing off to the side and imperiously reached for the potion from the learned man.

Slightly surprised at the notoriously difficult woman's silent demand, the chief master complied and placed the tincture in her hands. She promptly took it and made a face at the taste, wincing slightly before handing the now empty container back to the man. The midwife had already given the Lady a thorough health check and reported the state of Lady Tyrell's health. He commenced giving her owe final check up before leaving the room.

The nursemaid took a position in an unobtrusive corner watching the proceedings. She had done the same for the two youngest children before this little one and found it the safest place to be if the highborn decided to have a fit of temper. The babe in her arms was beautiful in a far different way from her elder sister. This lady would be a sight to behold once she reached adulthood and probably one of the rarest.

The nurse couldn't quite point out what caused her such certainty especially since she had just been handed the child, however her intuition was rarely wrong. It was what kept her in her current position for as long as she had been. Prior to her taking her place, Highgarden had been notorious for running through wet nurses and nursemaids due to the combined efforts of Dowager Lady Olenna's sharp tongue and Lady Alerie's difficult temperament.

Her mind went to looking about the luxuriously furnished suite while the maester was busy. It was opulence at its most garish and filled with the most expensive and best that money and wealth could afford. Her eyes continued to travel as she paid only partial attention to the examination and landed to the window outside. If it wouldn't have endangered the infant, she would have taken the babe to gaze upon the view this particular suite offered.

The nursemaid's eyes narrowed as she caught sight of something hanging from the arch that should have been impossible. However her attention was arrested when a piercing voice cut through her concentration and claimed her thoughts.

"Has a wet nurse been found." Lady Alerie demanded after she washed down the tincture with a small cup of watered wine. The nursemaid, who had been looking after the infant, answered her mistress.

"Yes, Milady."

"Good, take the babe to her and leave me to my rest." As exhaustion set in, the Lady leaned back into her feathery down pillows.

"Milady," the Tyrell Lady made an impatient noise in her throat prompting the nursemaid to quickly voice her query before she lost her position due to the Highborn's mercurial moods. "What is she called?"

A final glance at the rather plain looking, to her, newborn changed her mind about giving the girl a Hightower worthy name. The babe simply wasn't pretty enough for one.

On a whim and wanting the child to be gone before she could cry again and disturb Lady Alerie's much deserved rest she spoke the first name that came to mind before turning to her side and shutting her eyes. Leaving the servant to close the door behind her once she was done.

"She is Hermina."

* * *

Unbeknownst to the Highborn lady, the entirety of the Reach felt the birth of her daughter. Shock waves of magic rippled almost visibly through the land with the same impact as a meteor striking the earth. Though it was felt more so by the lands immediately surrounding the castle of Highgarden. As if to herald her coming, the deadening flora surrounding the great keep seemed to renew itself and burst forth wildly in applause of her arrival.

Outside the window, crawling up the great walls of the ancient Gardener king seat, were climbing roses older than most of the keeps of Westeros. The vines had long lost their luster and lain dormant since the fateful day of the direct Gardener Line's extinction. They were mostly unseen and therefore left alone. However as the snow blanketed the fertile region in earnest, the ancient keep seemed to come alive as the gardens colored in defiance of the storm.

And surrounding the window and balcony of Lady Alerie's quarters, they grew the most and in abundance. Green seemed to thrive and flower pods began ripening and grow weighty with maturity. The largest pod hung heavily as it was the first to open.

The bud bloomed into a velvety blue rose.

* * *

 _To Be Continued…_

* * *

A/N: Thank you reviewers, your kindness to me in all forms is appreciated, respected, and taken with gratitude (especially you, my Shakespearean critic). So, thank you!

I came upon a veritable gem, one I'm loathe to share and yet cannot promote enough. Some of you might know it: _**The Queen Gambit**_ by **nectre13.** Completely enthralling and enchanting, and utterly addicting. It's almost tied my ASoIaF admiration for _**The Last Lion of House Reyne**_ by **joen1801**.

These are the only two ficts I've found that have actually transported me to Westeros and let me crawl into characters' heads. Wild Flower is entertaining and energetic, but in terms of execution and conception it pales in comparison to the aforementioned works.

 _**Whines: It's_ **hard** _writing imaginary people who are both alive and actually living!_

…

Q&A: _**Do I have a posting schedule?**_ Nope. My personal _**hope**_ is either weekly or bi-weekly. No promise though (I'm no Stark so you can't poke my honor about it).

 _ **Who is Hermione paired with?**_ At this point, _**huh**_? Where is the fun in that? Curiosity is a beautiful thing so why ruin it now (but I would look forward to your speculation down the line _*hint**hint*_ )?

 _ **Is Hermione still**_ **Hermione** _ **and not some OC wearing her name?**_ Yes? Maybe? I'll Let you decide.

…

A side note: if you consider this trash; _**why**_ read it (is baffled)? Much less comment?

Addressing the Twit: You may call my stuff rubbish and yes, at this point it might be. But you are an arsemonger with emotional and intellectual depth of a teaspoon, and while I can improve and grow, you will always be gormless, airy-fairy maggot.

Signed, the bastardy, trolliest of trolls (*chuckles evilly*).

OceFossa 12/17/16, 12/30/16


	4. What's in a Name?

**The Lords Paramount**

By

OceFossa

…

Plot © OceFossa

A Song of Ice and Fire © George R.R. Martin

Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling

…

 **Chapter 4: What's in a Name?**

…

The wing of the nursery was having a rare quiet moment. Indeed normally it was filled with the angry cries of an infant intent on screaming her lungs out for all of Westeros to hear. The servants and nurses were beside themselves as to find the reason for the babe's discomfort.

Said infant would have gladly told them if she could speak. However as was the case she could not and thus was only able to communicate through tempers, tears, and earsplitting wails driving the help into nervous fits. As it was they left her alone for the most part, thus leaving the temperamental infant to her own devices. Namely giving her space to think without having the fear of being discovered as well not quite normal. In fact Hermione had it on good authority, household servant gossip, that she was the fussiest and most colicky babe of all the Tyrell children.

Having now been in this strange new place as an infant for close to six months, the former teenager had nothing but time. She was all but imprisoned in this infant body.

While this normally allowed her to lose herself in whatever volume she managed to squirrel away from Hogwarts' library, she was no longer a part of that life and with nothing left to occupy her mind the quiet allowed for her to think. And by being allowed to think and use her powerful mind, Hermione felt the full weight of her suppressed emotions catch up to her and then overwhelm her.

Hermione was a mess. Everything had finally caught up to her. And by everything, she meant _**everything.**_

There were the hard feelings she could identify from her readings; anger, depression, melancholy and the like. And then there were indefinable muted emotions that were tinged with guilt and grief. Though she was unsure of whether they were due to her present situation or her parents.

Grief she was finding out came in waves and with random triggers. Sometimes it was simply the way a servant said something another would be remembering some small or large event of her youth in England or it would be the future to come that she grieved. And inevitably all were attached to her beloved school and the memories she had created there.

Life at Hogwarts had been nonstop. From the moment she stepped off the boats as a precocious eleven years old to the trials of the horcrux hunt and the final battle, she had never allowed herself to stop and think. Had not allowed her a moment to breath, to analyze and finally process all that she had done and all that she had been through.

Now because of Death's displeasure with her initial existence, she was here, presumable to suffer through childhood and teenage mood swings again. And she stubbornly refused to think on the horror of being breast fed again. That was additional trauma on top of everything else.

And now she had time to process it all. Instead of triumph and a sense of justice, all Hermione was left with were her ruminations and regrets.

Hermione still hadn't figured out why she was the one sent away instead of Harry or some other witch or wizard. She had gone over and over everything that had happened up until the attack by the acromantula and nothing made sense. Save for the fact that she and Ron most likely would have had a turbulent relationship if they had acted on their initial feelings after the battle and Harry had become alarmingly dependent on her for decisions and information.

And that was without her even touching the trauma of Bellatrix Lestrange's torture or her death amongst many things. She still hadn't faced her nightmares about the troll incident back in her first year or even the teasing she had endured all throughout her childhood. Those were wounds where her own courage and resolve failed her.

For all of her bookishness, gained wisdom, and intellectual might, she was a fragile girl who had had a lonely childhood as the only daughter of two nerdy and extremely intelligent dentists, and had only found friends in Harry and Ron after she lied for them. And kept their friendship by continually doing things that came at her expense, had cost her own parents, her family, and her life. Hermione felt he tears well up in her eyes once more as her thoughts spiraled downwards inevitably.

Well at least there was some good in being an infant again. At the very least she could cry and fuss and no one would bat an eyelash at it.

Almost without her consciously doing so as her mind was rather preoccupied, Hermione's tiny fisted hand was stuffed in her mouth. Her gums and tongue slobbering all over her self-made toy as her legs kicked up and her other arm waved about. Regardless of her mental state, her mature mind was rather sequestered in a small corner while the larger part of her actions was devoted to the infant-like desires and feelings. Already she was feeling fussy and cranky because of the downturn of her thoughts.

However, thoughts on her grief and utter misery were derailed thoroughly when she noticed her visitor. With all the serenity of her nursery, she had almost wondered how the boy had snuck up on her without even making a sound.

Inquisitive eyes peaked over the sides of her crib at her. Hermione stared back wondering who this new person was. He couldn't be more than ten or eleven years old if she were any judge mentally comparing this boy's appearance to the little First Years she had ushered around Hogwarts as a Prefect their Fifth Year if not a bit wistfully.

 _Were all her thoughts to be tainted by the memory of Hogwarts?_ Some unidentifiable mixture of emotions bubbled in the back of her mind and she forcefully shoved the feelings down. There would be time for that later, preferably when she felt like chasing the servants out of the nursery. The witch felt her Gryffindor courage rise to bolster her decision. It flickered like a small spark from the hearth fire.

No, she would not give in to her memories or her grief. She would mourn, heal as much as she could, and then overcome them. The small flickering of emotion fanned into a tiny flame of determination, she would rally again. She was Hermione Granger and if she could overcome all of their trials, then she would survive this new life as well. However any more thoughts were derailed from further pursuit.

A second head popped over the railing with just as much curiosity alighting in them. Though this child's face was slightly chubbier, having not started to outgrow his baby fat. He looked absolutely adorable and very cuddle worthy. Her grand-mère would have been pinching those cheeks no doubt, she thought in amusement though with no small amount of melancholy. Hermione immediately scolded herself for giving into the somber mood so easily. She was stronger than that, a Gryffindor. Somewhat resolved to join the world of the living once more she returned her mind to the present.

Judging by their looks, they obviously were related, brothers maybe? They were handsome, comely children, even she had to admit that.

Observing the two of them with her large round eyes, especially the older boy, Hermione was reminded of everything she'd seen and read about elder siblings. Because the child in front of her strongly reminded her of an elder brother. His very presence gave the feel of such. Who were they?

"This is our new sister, then?" The elder boy spoke first peering down at her with something like curiosity.

Well, that answered _that_ question. Her attention was arrested when they began to speak again.

"She's small." It was said with a besotted look in the younger child's eyes. The elder boy chuckled a bit.

"You were that small once Garlan."

The younger boy pouted, "But I'm bigger now."

"Yes, you are now, but then you were very small." Garlan then turned and gave his brother a pleading look.

"Can I touch her? Please?!" Garlan's elder brother eyed the infant happily gnawing on her own fist.

"Are you sure?

"Oh, please?!" Garlan had the look of one of the hunting hound pups from the kennel. It was near impossible for the elder brother to combat. With a huff and a chagrined smile, the still unnamed elder brother complied with his brother's plea.

Though it took obvious effort, the younger boy reached his own chubby arm into her crib, rocking it a bit trying to stretch his shorter limbs towards her. The elder boy helped by picking him up and, she guessed from his position, letting his younger brother sit on his knee, giving him extra leverage and reach.

An impulse overcame her causing her to wave her arms at the boys. Hermione wanted to touch them. The instinct for comfort and desire for safety made her feel an overriding need to do so. To make sure these boys were real and not just a dream.

To her, who found herself longing for a gentle touch, for family, connecting with Garlan was indescribable. And him letting her grasp his soft fingers in turn grounded her in a way she never though she needed. It meant she was here and now and alive.

While she studied him, he marveled at the tiny life grasping at him. Even if her fingers were somewhat sticky and slippery from where she had been stuffing her fist in her mouth and drooling over the fist in turn.

Garlan it seemed had no such compunctions about getting his hands slimy and gross. He had not seen a babe this small. Not even Loras or Margeary. Both had been kept well away from the elder children until they had passed their second nameday and had been declared healthy enough to be around the elder children.

He examined her tiny fist and how his own hands seemed to dwarf hers. She looked at him with warm brown eyes that had such life in them that he was captivated.

Willas was very surprised at how quiet their youngest sister was being having heard the servants' complaints about her noisiness. However, he found himself was rather taken once her large cinnamon brown eyes caught his own and then stolen when she smiled a toothless smile and before he knew it the boy-heir to Highgarden was lost.

This was one sister he would be loath to be parted from. He considered his nine-year-old brother for a moment as the chubby boy played with their infant sister. His look of sheer delight said it all. He too was too attached to be parted from their sister any time soon.

Well, it seemed when they were older, both brothers would be putting up a fight for their baby sister to keep her from being married off. This stolen moment had in turn stolen their own hearts from them.

Seeing such a small fragile life in this world defined by death caused Willas' determination and will to grow in leaps and bounds. Even at their young ages both he and Garlan were being brutally trained, they were accustomed to death and the idea of it.

Tyrells, as he had been taught, were ambitious but not at the expense of their family. Also, the were selfish, canny, and extremely intelligent though usually it was contained in the female side. Willas supposed he inherited all of the vices that dogged the Tyrells to a degree.

He was ambitious, most likely enough that even his famed grandmother would probably hesitate where he would charge ahead. Strong willed, which his father always grumble about him inheriting form Lady Olenna. But he was also selfish, extremely so but only it seemed in relation to his siblings. Over protective as well if his young history was anything to go by. Even at the age of eleven, the boy had gotten into a shouting match with their lord-father over Loras' possible future. The boy was simply to young yet to have his life chosen for him. However, unlike Garlan, Willas supposed he would be losing the battle for Loras when the boy came of fostering age. However at four it was still a bit too early to tell for their middle brother. Though he was rather more preoccupied playing with their sister Margaery rather than spend time with his elder brothers.

In fact, he had huffed his way out of just such an argument. Needing to clear his head of frustration and anger at his blustery sire, he rounded up Garlan and dragged him to the nursery.

None of the family had been introduced to the newest babe yet and his curiosity demanded to be sated. His thoughts were interrupted by Garlan. "What's her name?"

Willas had to search his memory for a moment. Come to think of it, they hadn't truly heard anything about the little girl other than she had been born. Of course, the continued health of their Lady Mother was assured. But after the successful birth announcement there had been nothing officially. Unofficially the servants were going a bit mad because the little girl was forever discontent and fussy. It was from them he overheard her name. More specifically, when Loras and Margaery's nursery nanny and the Highgarden arch-maester were having a small conference in the halls by the library doors did he learn that tidbit of information, "I overheard Margeary's nanny say it when she was in conference with Arch-Maester Beram. She said Hermina. So, I suppose that's her name."

Garlan looked up at his elder brother. Curiosity made his eyes rather large and doleful, a fact Willas rued often when his younger brother suckered him into to doing mischief of some kind or the other, or when he wanted something. He fell for it often enough that he brushed aside his Lady Mother's comments about his unseemly behavior towards his younger sibling.

"Do you think Mother named her that to rhyme with Grandmama's name?" Willas hmmed as he thought about the suggestion. Knowing their mother as he did, she had simply named the babe to get her out of the birthing chamber to allow her to rest as opposed to any real thought or meaning added to the name. An intellectual or witty woman Lady Alerie was not.

"Perhaps." Willas watched as the proverbial wheels churned in his brother's head. He didn't have to wait long as the boy's face cleared and he was as resolute as one of their old guard commanders.

"Mina." Garlan said it so resolutely that Willas gave him a hard stare.

"Pardon?"

"Her name is Mina."

"Why?" Willas prodded, what logic drove his nine-year-old brother to conclude that?

"She should have a family name. Mina is perfect." Garlan had made probably the first truly decisive statement Willas had ever heard form him, "and she's _my_ little sister."

Well, Willas wasn't quite sure what to make of his brother's Tyrell traits appearing with a vengeance. He silently mused at the occurrence as he retrieved his eyebrows from where they had jumped into his hairline at Garlan's protective and possessive statements. Something about this little girl was bringing those parts of their family just as notable as their ambition out in force. Most would call them vices however the eldest child of Lord Mace and Lady Alerie was beginning to believe they were at least controllable vices and if manipulated correctly, could be just as powerful tools in their arsenal of tactics.

Garlan wiggled out of his elder brother's grip and stood on his own. His eyes stilled barely seeing over his sister's crib.

Perhaps that wasn't a bad circumstance to notice. If nothing else, should the three of them band together, the Tyrell Lords of the reach won't ever be extinct as the Gardeners were.

"That is rather Gallant of you Garlan." Then it seemed that his brain caught up with his own words and he gave it serious consideration. If he could influence people's perception of Garlan early on, it would be better for his younger brother at present and for House Tyrell in the future for tournament fame, as their father would most likely push, and for Garlan himself and his own image.

"Garlan the Gallant. I rather like that." His brother gave him a questioning look, not quite understanding what he was trying to say. Willas simply favored him with an enigmatic smile.

Another weakness their grandmother harped to both he and his brother about was their large hearts. It seemed the Tyrells were also blessed with at least one virtue of overly large and compassionate hearts. Aside from extreme intelligence and wit that was. Whichever Tyrell had found favor in the eyes of the many gods of this world had also seen to it that they were blessed in equal measure to ensure their balanced and healthy view of this violent and brutal world.

So here he was no with his younger brother, who was starting to be teased for his childish weight, and himself then heir with the burden of a thousand expectations attaching themselves to a small babe that was not even a year old. It could be dire for them both if she died come the longer, colder winter months. Willas' own childish pragmatism reasoned that such was their lots in life but that was no reason to not get to know their own flesh and blood. And his heart whispered that he had no reason not to hope for the best.

Coming to a decision, the eleven-year-old heir drew himself to his rather short height and formally discharged responsibility to his younger brother. He caught Garlan's attention, and his baby sister's unknowingly, and tried not to feel silly and foolish. This was for both of their sakes after all.

"To the future Ser Garlan the Gallant, one of the Lords Paramount of the Reach, I charge you with the duty of looking after our dear youngest sister as her protector, friend, and above all brother."

"My future lord brother Willas of house Tyrell." Hermione couldn't see what they were doing but she assumed he gave their apparently eldest brother a sketched bow. She was almost sorry she missed it.

It was said in comically childish voices and yet Hermione heard the underpinnings of the men they would grow into. She felt a completely displaced sense of pride well up within her. And promptly ruined the solemn moment by burbling and babbling at her brothers, kicking up her feet and waving an arm as she once again stuffed her fist in her mouth.

The noise broke the solemnity of the moment. Willas wanted to laugh at the unexpected interruption and valiantly tried to hold his composure. Garlan held his gaze and tried to do the same. The boys went into an impromptu staring contest.

Garlans' face broke first as his childish laughter filled the nursery with a very different sound. Willas soon joined him as they once again entertained their infant sister.

That very side of the castle seemed alive with the climbing vines lush and bright with life. Blue Winter roses bloomed outside of the nursery window. The darkly velvet petals of a color of a starless night seemed to laugh along with the joyous sounds in the nursery as they swayed within the Reach's summer breeze.

* * *

Lady Olenna stepped back from the nursery doorway with a rare smile on her lips. She knew that it was only a matter of time before her grandchildren interfered in the ridiculous notions of the Hightower family. Both Willas and Garlan had exceeded her expectations. When Loras and Margaery were born they were too young to understand the import of their Lady Mother's actions. Or lack there of.

How was their family to create strong ties with each other if they were raised in isolation? As a Redwyne, Olenna benefited form strong family relations and was rather balanced by them. Being from a naval family where tragedy struck their own people highborn and small folk equally, forced them to lead different lives from the rest of the landlocked lords.

The Hightower family might command the large city of Oldtown, but they had not dealt with the piracy or the terror of the Ironborn raids as the Redwynes have. Living in their ivory towers definitely addled their minds in Olenna's opinion. And she wondered if her oaf of a son would even produce children that had intelligent minds considering Lady Alerie could hardly be considered scholarly.

She especially worried after she learned that he pushed his male children into training far earlier than most lords. And he seemed to only take interest in them when the Master at Arms came with his progress reports. It was a situation that forced her to keep and eagle eye on the situation and step up her efforts in Highgarden in general. She constantly worried that whatever minds were in the children's heads was being squashed despite her efforts to educate and influence them.

But with what she just witnessed, she needn't have worried. For the boys at least and slightly less for the little girl now they decided to be their youngest sister's protectors. There was nothing she could do about the babe, yet. Her heart lifted as the laughter renewed itself and followed her down the hall.

The Dowager Lady of Highgarden took leave of her vigil. She wasn't needed there. Rather she suspected she was needed elsewhere and made her way back into the keep and to her oaf of a son. She had work to do.

* * *

 _To Be Continued…_

* * *

A/N: I know, I know, _Hermina?_ Really? That's only two vowels off from Hermione! Not very creative! Perhaps, perhaps not. Funnily enough it is a variation of Hermione.

 _ **For the 'Gee Whiz' Factor:**_

Pronunciation: Her-mi-na (A Latinate variation of Hermine, the effeminate form of Hermann, which means Soldier (Army Man) in the Deutsch variation (Hermine is also the name in the Deutsch Harry Potter Series for Hermione). Hermina in the Latinate and Greek meanings means: Messenger and Prophet)

Actually, if you all decide to look up the etymology of Hermine (or Hermione) from which I derived Hermina and its variations (use multiple sites for the full picture), you might be surprised, entertained, and perhaps understand why I liked keeping it simple. Besides, I have nicknames to go along with it (mwahahah!)…or maybe you would like to contribute a variation?

…Oh, and I think you'll find the poem at the beginning very helpful with hints of…things. Yes, very helpful indeed…

OceFossa 12/17/16, 1/7/17, 1/8/17


	5. Rowena's Touch

**The Lords Paramount**

By

OceFossa

…

Plot © OceFossa

A Song of Ice and Fire © George R.R. Martin

Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling

…

 **Chapter 5: Rowena's Touch**

…

Hermione found that being three was hardly any better than being an infant. On the upside she was strong enough to toddle around and gave herself a limited form of independence.

She also learned a newer definition to patience. Being stuck in a small room that served as a nursery for hours upon hours each day was beyond bothersome and boring. She wasn't even allowed a small tome to while away time, it was all incredibly unfair.

The intelligent witch simply had to escape her nursery and the servants before she went mental. When she was attending Hogwarts, rule breaking was the antithesis of everything she believed in, now it seemed to be the only means to ensure she was no longer bored to tears. Besides, if she were to admit it if only to herself, it was a little thrilling.

Of course Hermione could rationalize her behavior due to the fact that she was a toddler and prone to getting into trouble. Also there really were no written rules for her to break, just general guidelines as to the proper and in proper behavior of a child of…three.

 _This is simply ridiculous_ , her mind scolded her in an indignant tone sounding suspiciously like eleven year old Hermione, _She was three. Really, there were no real rules for a toddler. If there were she would have read it._ Perhaps she was more used to fudging the lines than she thought. Something to ponder later, now for her escape!

Hermione began her jailbreak by approaching her cell door. Her nursery door had been left cracked open by an overworked maid. Not one to let such a chance slide, she slowly widened the opening and poked her head out looking around the hallway. Not a soul in sight, _perfect!_ And slipped out like a cat.

She found herself humming the Colonel Bogey tune as she stole down the hall, tiptoeing and crawling where she needed to, all the while acting incredibly unlike a child of three and more like her sixteen year old self. A part of Hermione irrelevantly noted that she was an odd sight for anyone should they catch her and in the same breath found that she didn't care one jot.

Hermione peeked around the corner. The corridor was deserted. Excellent.

She supposed that she was being considerably more dramatic than the situation called for, however boredom was driving her to distraction and she needed to get away. She was determined to leave that boring room and explore if only for a little while.

The witch hadn't remembered her first childhood very well, however she knew that her parents then had not restricted her in the slightest. In fact she still remembered impressions of sitting upon her father's lap and listening to his soothing tenor voice as he read of the exciting facts from the Encyclopedia Britannica. It was all so informative too!

Hermione shook her meandering thoughts loose of her fuzzy memories. To the Great Escape!

She peeked out from her temporary hidey hole, a sack of something probably a grain of some type the details being unimportant. Again, that portion of her mind that was devoted to the ridiculous noted that she would not have been able to get away with such a concealment had she been sixteen and not three.

The toddler looked through the open entryway, her current target, and glimpsed the seemingly magical outside world. It called her with a promise of adventure, excitement, and _not_ her nursery. Her more mature mind blamed the fact she was induced to adventure by sheer boredom. Unfortunately, she did not have either Ron or Harry to blame for dragging her on another wild trip. Her childlike attention span hijacked her line of thoughts right then when she spotted something that looked like fun.

Ooh, that was an interesting looking place. Now she had a destination to explore. A quick glance told her that all was clear. Ready, steady, go!

She sprinted through the door into the sunny light of the Reach and to freedom!

* * *

The nursemaid looked at the opened nursery door with horror dawning upon her wearied features. A good portion had left with the Lord Paramount and his Lady on their tour of the Reach and they were shorthanded with the running of the enormous keep.

She slowly pushed in the door and looked around the nursery to make sure the child was actually gone. The bottom dropped out of her stomach as she confirmed her fears.

The staff for the nursery had been doubly tasked that week and run into the ground, but that was no excuse. Now though, she would be paying for their lack of vigilance. The smallest child had escaped. The servant saw many horrible repercussions resulting from this. The only solution she saw was that they needed to find the little lady and fast.

She turned and scurried out of the room and down the hall. Urgency hastening her steps and by the end of the hall she was almost sprinting. She needed help, or they would all feel the wrath of the family.

* * *

The air of magic and life permeated the wood. And it was an honest wood! Like a moth to a flame, the youngest Tyrell had scampered towards it. The copse was enormous to her young eyes and she swiveled her head to take in every detail. Her childish emotions and impulsive tendencies were dominant over her more intellectually mature mind and controlled her actions more often than not. For this instance, though, her more mature mind could forgive her childish self because she was simply mesmerized by this place.

There was a deep sense of melancholy and mourning that she began to sense. It permeated every fiber of her being and entwined with her emotions with every step. And each toddled step took her over to the crown jewel of the copse, an incredibly large tree of three intertwined trunks of white bark and a multitude of different colored leaves in varying shades of red.

She looked up in awe at the three faces. They looked so… _sad_. The word whispered in her mind though the voice was not any she recognized.

Hermione immediately dismissed the flight of fancy. She was more preoccupied with the wood and what she was both sensing and feeling from this place. The now young girl had sensed it before but from where she couldn't exactly put her thumb on it. Having spent further time separated from the world of her first life blurred her recall of details that were not Harry or Hogwarts-centric.

In turn the faces seemed to look down upon her, studying her while she looked up and met the three sets of hollow eyes, evidently curious. Time seemed to defy itself and stretch interminably in those moments.

Perhaps it was the quiet serenity of the place. Maybe it was the slightly warmer air with a mellow, indolent quality to it. But the toddler Hermina let out a large yawn, her adventure catching up with her. The feeling of the copse changed ever so slightly to one of indulgent amusement.

Hermione curled up at the base of the Three Singers, her head pillowed by one of the many entwining roots feeling safe and sleepy. Her lids fluttered close as the warm ambience of the copse lulled her into a relaxed

* * *

Willas and Garlan halted their sparring abruptly and took in the scurrying of the servants as they ran around the grounds almost erratically. The activity was likes a beehive. Something must be happening. Without a word Garlan darted to the side leaving his practice weapon in Willas' care.

The second eldest Tyrell grabbed one of the passing stable boys by the arm. "What is happening?"

The young teen paled when he recognized their liege lord's son. Garlan's impatience nearly had his temper snapping at groom when the boy seemed to instantly turn into a stuttering puddle of human shaped goo and immediately locked up on him. The stench of fear wafting off the boy did nothing but put the younger Tyrell on higher alert and he would have had a sharp word for the stable hand had Willas not chosen that moment to intervene.

The Tyrell Heir laid a hand on his brother's shoulder, though he was just as serious and grave.

"Well?"His quiet command seemed to coax the fearful teen out of his shell somewhat and he answered hesitantly, "The little miss escaped her nursery, we're searching for her right now." When nothing else happened the boy seemed to uncurl a bit more and eye the Highgarden Heir. Willas curtly nodded to the groom, "off with you then."

Said teen seemed to comically melt with relief before he shot off to help in the search. Obviously the servants feared the reaction of the Lord Paramount's family over the loss of the youngest girl child. All of their livelihoods were in jeopardy until the toddler was back safely in her rooms.

Willas saw the one saving grace of this situation as that their parents were absent form Highgarden. Garlan shared a look with his elder brother and knew he needn't have bothered voicing a question. Willas had already made up his mind, he could tell. Without a word both shot off the practice grounds to aide in the search, ignoring the calls of the Master-at-Arms following them.

They had a little sister to find.

* * *

Hermione blinked. And then blinked again.

She spun around taking in the room. It looked akin to something she'd seen in Hogwarts, though it wasn't the Gryffindor Common Room nor the Slytherin Lounge either. The colors were muted though, so she couldn't make out all of the details.

The room itself was somewhat dimly lit. The hearth was glowing lowly and casting deep long shadows over the space. The only other light was the silver touched patches where the moonlight shone through the large window. It's stained glass panes were propped open outwards towards the starry night sky.

The witch looked down and found herself looking at the very familiar sight of her nearly adult hands. Hands that had held 10¾" long, made of vine wood, and possessed a dragon heartstring core wand. The same wand she would never hold again. _Enough_ , her mind shouted. Hermione refocused back to her original train of thought. They were the same hands than ghosted over tomes and skimmed texts that dated back to the eleventh century. She knew those hands intimately. And it led her back to one conclusion. She was back in her sixteen year old body.

But where was she?

"Well met, young spellweaver."

The witch flinched and span towards the voice, her arm extended in readiness to cast a spell from her wan…she was struck forcibly by the emptiness of her lost wand and only just managed to look up, her loss plain for all to see. Hermione gasped is recognition.

"Lady Helena."

The ghost of the Ravenclaw Tower was a silver translucent shadow of starlight and moonlight. She no longer looked the part of a specter as Hermione last remembered. Rather with each moment she looked more and more corporeal, alive even.

However her mind set those observations aside. She needed answers and she needed them _now_.

"What, no, no that is not what I want to know. _Why_ am I here? Where am I?"

"That is not the correct question," the lady softly replied, "what is it you truly wish to know?" and then, as if from the depth of her soul, the question burbled up through her and she knew. She knew exactly what she wanted to ask.

"Why?" She burst out, "Why was I sent here? Why me?" It was as if everything that had been pent up for the last three years burst from her like a flood from a dam, "What did I do for Death to punish me? _Why_ did Death send me here? Where is here?"

"What did I do wrong." The sob tore from her throat as Hermione let herself cry. Not as she had during her infancy in the strange new world in which she had awoken with a different name. But as herself. She cried as Hermione Granger. The teen-aged witch who was magically only inferior to Harry Potter in raw power and exceeded all others her age in the knowledge of magic itself. The single daughter of two muggle dentists. A loyal subject to the crown.

She was so, so very lost. And utterly afraid.

Helena Ravenclaw, daughter of the vaunted Rowena Ravenclaw, watched the sobbing teenaged girl with a mixture of pity and compassion. She kept vigil over the girl, who had touched her for the first time in centuries of her faded existence, during this life as she had not done in the last. And she was here now as the tides were turning and forces between worlds, times, and existences were beginning to move again.

The sobs had lessened and the girl was quietly hiccuping from the spot where she sunk to the floor. It looked to the ghostly lady as if the girl had needed that cry and had been long denying herself as such.

Helena felt she needed to use the wisdom her mother's house was vaunted for and steer this young ward onto the correct path. This witch who had garnered her attention was heading towards a disastrous end if she was not corrected now while there was still time. Hermione was rejecting her new life and that could not be allowed. She would need to accept that her world was lost to her and that this new existence was her only chance at a future.

"Daughter of my mother's house. Progeny of the unification of House Gryffindor and House Ravenclaw. You who said you valued wits and cleverness as much as friendship and courage. Your decision made under the Sorting Hat was one with far reaching consequences."

Hermione was forcibly reminded of the words Death's Incarnation had greeted her with upon her awaking in its halls. She grew apprehensive. Not that Helena gave her much choice in the matter. Before she understood what was happening the moonlight grew in strength and singular beam filtered through the window and began to glow.

"I will show you one future that you may have had, had you survived and continued one path you chose to take."

The beam of moonlight played across the floor of the stone room and Hermione watched in numbed disbelief as the future that could have been hers played out before her. She watched as she grew into an adult. She watched her marriage to Ron and the birth of her two children. She watched as she became Minister of Magic. She watched and watched for how long she did not know, but Hermione was brought to when she felt the wet sensations of tears once again streaming down her cheeks. This time though she could not stem them.

That future hadn't seemed so bad. In fact it seemed eerily like the one she was sure would have eventually happened. She wiped the itching spots on her cheeks where he tears had dried over the course of the vision. She was so thoroughly derailed from her grief and fear by the images that she was pliable and quiet, exactly as Helena needed her to be.

"Another path also was yours and the most likely of them all."

And again the moonlight coalesced like the screen of a theater and she was helpless to do anything but watch. In this though she found a less desirable future awaiting this version of herself.

Compared to the first it was a veritable nightmare. Indeed Hermione couldn't wait for it to finally fade out. However, when it did end, all she could do was stare at the ghostly lady in muted disbelief. Helena Ravenclaw, though, seemed hardly moved in the slightest and continued on as if she had not shown Hermione something of the magical version of a post-apocalyptic Britain.

"For the last, I will show you the path you should have taken."

Distantly the witch wondered if Ebenezer Scrooge from Charles Dicken's A Christmas Carol had felt vaguely similar to what she was experiencing. It made her slightly sympathize with the miser for a moment before she was once again immersed in watching the images play out before her like a movie on the telly.

Hermione watched as her eleven year old self once again hopped cheerfully on the stool and had the sorting hat placed again on her had. This time it pronounced Ravenclaw as her house.

From there she watched as a slightly more lonely experience was her fate. None of her fellow classmates quite bonded with her and she remained the lonely know-it-all bookworm. That was until a shy Neville approached her one day in Herbology for a class project to be his partner. The poor boy looked as though he would have fainted at any moment. However, she also saw herself enthusiastically agree as this boy was one of the best of their year and she was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

During that project, even though she cringed at her child-self's overbearing and socially awkward attempts at help. Though as time progressed it became noticeable the two of them seemed to have gained an understanding of each other. It was that friendship that led them both to being more rounded individuals. He curbed her over bearing nature, sincerely and gently while she offered pure unadulterated, steadfast friendship that seemed to succor his courage. In each other they found a first, real, true friend.

To be fair though, both were works in progress at that stage being children and all. She watched in disbelief as Harry allowed Ron to tease her something awful after a terrible shared class with the Gryffindor House without even a word. What followed flabbergasted her all the same because _Neville_ yelled at the redhead. The shy boy then went on to verbally rip out the redhead's spleen and feed it to him before frog marching her away from the rude children. That cemented them as best friends for life.

The next year she stood up for a strange younger blond who was being bullied for her quirks. She also learned what it was like to be an elder sister while finding another friend in an odd place. Luna Lovegood's love for everything that took faith and belief added another level of balance to Hermione and grew her in ways that challenged her very orderly and pragmatic mind. It was rather hilarious watching this version of Neville meet Luna as he didn't know what to make of the dreamy-eyed girl. Neville was raised to be and wanted to be the perfect gentlemen and she being true to form completely upended those attempts. It was utterly endearing. From the first moment of their introduction in each other even she could see the two made fast friends and were kindred spirits.

Hermione found her envying this version of herself as she watched the Ravenclaw Hermione grow in friendship with these two overlooked individuals. Which led her into an interesting introduction with several Hufflepuff students in Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot. She found her friendship circle growing even a bit more as a practical Susan and sensible Hannah also forced Hermione to see problems from others' points of view.

The debates and argument that followed were sensible, logical, clever, well thought out and enlightening. Not only that, but those sessions challenged her intellectually and Hermione found that she was delighted for this version of herself to have been engaged in such pursuits. Everything that she was denied with Ron and Harry.

In all of this, she lacked the fights and the arguments and dealings with Ron and Harry. It was noticeable and telling that she grew a more mature and a softer, more human side of herself. It was the kind of maturity that Hermione once dreamed she would possess. There were millions of small details of those years that she witnessed and changed simply because of who she as in this version of herself and how she was shaped by those around her. And they in turn grew from their acquaintance with herself.

Though she did ache for this version of Hermione in that she never had that strong friendship with Harry or Ron. But by the same token, she also did not miss it. They had a somewhat cordial acquaintance through Neville, but never the solid friendship that had defined her schooling years.

Though with Luna involved and Susan's amateur detective work, they had their own fair share of adventures and close-shaves. However they lacked the tension and drama involved with Harry, who as she noticed was doing a fine job of dragging Ron and sometime Ginny into his messes on his own.

She watched as this alternate version of herself glided down the stairs as Viktor Krum's date. She also noticed Harry looking at her, truly noticing her for the first time as a boy did a girl, and he seemed just as floored as everyone else. It was a rather random tidbit to see. She watched in disbelief as the following years unfolded before her eyes like a blossoming rose and at the end of it all, an almost fairy tale like conclusion seemed to wrap up the entire thread with a bow.

Helena spoke up quietly as the vision, dream, or figment of her imagination ended. Hermione listened intently, seemingly unable help herself.

"Did you not notice, Prodigal Daughter of my mother's house, how in the first life Harry Potter never truly amounted to more than an average person? He has grown dependent on you for answers. As if you were his own personal crystal ball that could solve his problems for him.

In the second vision he had followed through with the fool Dumbledore's plan and thus died. This left you and Ron to fight ever after. Whereas you could equal Harry in all but pure power and would have eventually triumphed, the cost would have been greater than even you would have known.

And as you saw in the final dream of what could have been, you became his partner in life. Because you were allowed to grow in knowledge and as a person, your magic too grew and eclipsed his in most ways. This allowed you to cover his weaknesses but also he had to grow and mature on his own, and learn the value of an education and hard work.

You were meant to be from the house of spellweavers and crafters. Creators and inventors in their own right.

He was meant to hail from the house of Battlemasters. Those adept in battle magics first and in need of cool heads tempered with logic to balance their minds.

But as you are now, you are neither. Not of the Spellcrafters and Weavers, nor of the Battlemages. You are something else and he, Harry Potter of House Gryffindor will never achieve his role as the foremost Battlemage since Myrrdin Emrys surpassing his house ancestor.

He has relied on you for far too long and thus has not pushed himself into the heights of his abilities.

However without you to be his weakness, his crutch, he may regain some semblance of that future in which he shall lead the Magical Enclave out of the Dark Ages and may-hap finally grow it into what he was intended to become.

Had you grown within the House of Wisdom and Knowledge, to be the lady of my mother's house, you would have become his goal. His motivation. And for you he would have moved the world.

Of course you would not have been hampered in your personal goals, nor your admirable fights for those oppressed. However, he would have been the perfect foil and mate, friend and confidant, the partner that balanced each other.

And even if you had not become lovers, that future would still have been changed to become brighter and better. Because you would have been the friend to sharpen him as iron sharpens iron and challenged him to become better than himself.

Now he is weak and shallow. To move the fates from their judgement he will have to learn the hard way of his destiny beyond that written for him by one Albus Dumbledore.

As for yourself, you were to be judged harshly by your decision to enter into the House of Battlemasters. I would not allow it and interceded with Lord of Death on your behalf. And Death which comes to us all heard and judged in your favor."

Hermione sat spellbound by the lecture she had received. At first she hadn't known what to truly make of the visions, the possible futures, the 'might-have-been's, of that life. However as Lady Ravenclaw all but spelled out for her, she found she could not completely discount all that she had seen and had been told.

But the Harry she knew, her best friend since they were first years couldn't possibly have seen her in such a light, as was hinted. He was indeed in love with Ron's younger sister. Hermione knew this as surely as she knew the smell of ancient tomes in the library of Hogwarts.

"What of Ginny?" Hermione croaked as her more practical and pragmatic mind once again strongly reasserted itself. She wasn't Luna Lovegood prone to belief in the invisible and fantastical, she was Hermione Granger pragmatic and logical and prone to believe the written word as it was real, tangible, and could produce results and enrich her mind with knowledge. Everything she knew and lived could not have possibly been a lie. It was one thing to live by predestined roads set out for one and quite another to walk the winding paths of life where one had free will and made their own decisions. Besides, it was all too wild to believe. However, her doubts were waylaid once more by the Ravenclaw specter.

"This is your story or was your story, not hers. You cannot know that which is not yours."

Then the ghost, which seemed to grow more solid with each moment and only lacked the color of the living to flesh her out, was in front of her causing the witch to jump in surprise. She sternly regarded the young witch again and addressed another topic which must be broached while the girl still was growing in her other life, "Surely you have guessed by now what Death was so angry with you? Surely you must also have supposed why it was necessary to remove you from that plane of existence?"

"I do not. All I now know is that the life I would have had wasn't so bad. And that-"

Helena cut her off. She did not have time for the girl to prevaricate in denial. She needed to see that it was essential to the existence of her very soul, that she had been essentially granted such mercy. The stubbornness though was unexpected as was the force of the resistance the witch put up. She resisted the temptation to shake the girl.

"Do you not see that Death was not the only factor, that there were many other forces involved?"

Hermione frowned at the intensity of the question. She spoke almost instantly, "what othe-" She knew of a prophecy. The one pertaining to Harry's destiny. If he had a prophecy then logically it was the fates that were involved. They had to be. Not that she believed in the fates, but it was the only logical explanation for it all.

"The fates?"

Helena nodded regally, "Amongst others."

Hermione on the other hand was almost hysterical as her logical mind pieced together rather grim picture, "that is why I had a monstrous spider sting me?" She all but shrieked.

"No," The Ravenclaw lady calmly cut through the witch's hysteria, "Nothing is ever certain in battles. You know this." Hermione looked away. Certainly she knew something. She like everyone her age and younger had believed in her own invulnerability and had been susceptible to such an impractical belief. Which had been summarily dashed with reality. But knowing and experiencing one's own mortality were two very different things to face. The entire past year had taught her as much. Though she would rather not have to think upon the quest, the torture or the mess that was.

"It was simply an opportunity that presented itself. One I took advantage of as was within my power. Those of us who are doomed to look upon the world but never again walk upon it can do nothing."

"Then how…" The ghostly lady quelled any further questions with a simple look. Hermione couldn't decipher it and hadn't time to before the ghost started speaking once more. Apparently, whether a deity, entity, or even a spectral visitor, one more lesson she would have to learn to listen more and speak less if she wished to gain any sort of knowledge.

"The fates had decreed that you were my House's responsibility. Never were you supposed to be Gryffindor's. Thus you were placed in my care. And in my care you shall remain until you no longer need my guidance."

Hermione was slightly comforted by that small bit of knowledge. She would not be alone in this strange adventure.

"Do not waste this chance with past regrets," Helena Ravenclaw gently reminded Hermione. "Now all you have left is to grow stronger in this life you have been blessed with, for it will not come a second time."

The lady lifted her chin and kissed her forehead. "Fear not, for if ever you have need of me, simply come to the singers and they shall lead the way."

The silver lady of the Ravenclaw Tower straightened and stepped back into the moonlight and was no more. As the lady vanished, so too did the room around her begin to mute and blur. While final light of the hearth faded from her sight, Hermione finally loosened her deathly hold on her earthly life and bid it mostly farewell and allowed Hermina Tyrell in. This was her _now_ and she would learn to simply _be_.

Somehow.

* * *

Hermina blinked awake sleepily. She must have fallen asleep at the roots of the weirwood trees. However she felt a bit more whole, complete, and rested, like a portion of her wounded soul had been healed.

A small sound had her looking up. The lethargy of the sleep must have been slowing her mind as she studied the worn boots of her visitor. They were a high-quality leather but scuffed and used as well as stained with age. She followed the boots up to the baggy breeches and worn, though well-made tunic and finally rested on some feature she thought were familiar.

Said familiar features were staring in disbelief at the sight of his toddler sister napping between the roots of the sacred Three Singers like some small kitten curled up in its bed. Willas' chagrined look met a sleepy Hermina's and that was all he needed to know that she was safe. He scooped her up and made a show of checking her all over. Hermione was sure her elder brother would have started scolding her something awful right then and there if another hadn't opportunely popped up at that moment.

"Did you find her?" Garlan's voice broke the calm serenity of the wood.

"See for yourself." Upon confirming their youngest sister was indeed whole, healthy and very much in one piece, the second eldest Tyrell child sagged in relief. Before running a hand through his sweaty locks and cursing as he relaxed, the tension bleeding out of him.

"How in Seven Hells did a little girl of three escape her nursery?"

"She's a smart girl, I'm sure it was an accident 'tis all." It was said with an almost detached air, as if Willas did not particularly care. Garlan however was sure his overprotective elder brother would most definitely be having words with the staff about this incident. Several in fact.

"Four levels of keep, three main gates, Four terraces, three stables, two kennels, seven pastures, five kitchens, four armories, five smithies, two list yards and three practice yards. That is quite some accident."

Willas gave his twelve nameday old brother a look that could curdle milk. The boy had certainly grown to have a smart tongue in his head, something that at fourteen Willas was fervently wishing would stay there most days. Ever since he had challenged his father, and won, for the privilege of Garlan's training to be in Highgarden and for himself to be the one to eventually take him to squire, wit as keen as his grandmother's with a tongue just beginning to wield it was unsheathed blade. Willas found himself the recipient of much of the pointed comments.

He acknowledged that the entire affair was as ridiculous as it was loud and foolhardy. But in the end it was his victory and his brother would be in his protect and his to educate. No one would accuse Garlan or Willas of being ignorant, unintelligent, or uneducated. He refused to acknowledge that his father was a re big windbag and easily pushed over. But for the time being Garlan was safe from the political machinations of the other Reach families and it was an achievement he could be proud of. Though for his knighthood, the young heir would readily admit that that was up to Garlan. Willas teaching him how to be a knight this young in both of their lives was rather ridiculous.

Not that it mattered to Garlan in the slightest. Once his bother heard the news, the good natured, happy, gallant, but slightly terrified child transformed into a gremlin of the highest order. Garlan seemed to have become a miniature male version of their grandmother overnight with his fearless smart comments and unminced words that could and would make many a man and woman quiver. Willas was unsure of where this change came from or if his grandmother was secretly egging his brother on.

"Garlan."

"My dear elder brother, we live in a veritable fortress. If ever you forgot, I'd be glad to go on…"

Willas immediately squashed the ridiculous notion that his grandmother would in any form approve of his brother's unchecked tongue. She would have taken his comments and then proceed to smack Garlan around with them until he was black and blue, and then forced an unconditional surrender form his lips and had a signed treaty that would ensure his absolute obedience to her will before she released him from his mangled state.

"Garlan."

Perhaps one day he would unleash the two other on each other and watch the fireworks…from a safe distance, of course.

"That is my name."

"Are you done?"

"Have I even started?"

Oh, the boy should be beyond glad that they had their three nameday old sister there, otherwise he would most gladly show his brother just what exactly their Master-at-Arms had been teaching him in one of the aforementioned practice yards.

The tinkling laughter of their toddler sister stopped any from of retort form the young heir as he was thoroughly distracted. No Weseterosi male should ever be as besotted with their younger siblings as he was, however it seemed Willas' glaring weakness would forever be his brothers and sisters. Though as they all grew, he was sensing that Garlan and especially Hermina would be the two he would always feel the most keenly and guard the most jealously.

The Highgarden heir apparent turned on his heel and strode out of the sacred copse and into the Reach sunlight with his younger brother trotting behind him. Willas allowed himself a small sense of sibling vindication at the inflicted revenge. He would not apologize for the childish sense of satisfaction it brought him. Garlan hadn't yet begun his growth spurt and had to work twice as hard to keep up with his elder brother.

Willas was growing like a weed and had all the slender awkwardness of the coltish stage of growth. The awkwardness of his longer limbs were balanced and conditioned by his heavy training schedule. His father was determined that he be a fitting heir and thus had ordered his training to doubled if need be. Willas was most definitely not thankful for that little tidbit of information.

On the positive side, it greatly helped his grace and set him ahead of most of his age group. He also suffered none of the clumsiness most of the young lords and squires his age experienced. He also had the small thrill of rubbing his longer stride in Garlan's face when his younger brother and best friend was annoying him something awful. Like right now.

Hermina's peel of laughter caused his irritation to melt away once again. Curious, he glanced back and saw his brother making some undignified and funny faces at her. Her answering giggles were enough for him to let them alone.

As they headed back into the grand keep of Highgarden, Willas withdrew into his thoughts. Comforted to have his baby sister back in his arms and his brother being useful and keeping her occupied.

Perhaps the old Gods and New had one large celestial consortium and decided that the greatest joke they could play on a male heir born in the patriarchal society of Westeros, was to ingrain said man with an overprotective streak wider that the entire continent of Essos and then some. And then place him as the eldest of four siblings, two of which were blessed with abilities to drive him up the wall.

But with the same breath he also saw the wisdom in such a supposition, deity blessed or not. Only they knew how much his siblings needed the protection he could afford them. Certainly looking at his own parents would showed him how useless they would be protecting the wellbeing of his brothers and sisters.

His father was excellent at grandstanding and almost nothing else other than, perhaps, doting on his equally self-absorbed Lady-Wife. But that was neither here nor there. His Lady Mother was the product of her rigid upbringing and family, with proper etiquette and courtly protocol to be observed at all times in her presence. That was all he was willing to say about her as she was rather nonexistent outside of her perfunctory role of Lady of Highgarden and detached mother of the Tyrell children.

Willas was far more observant as he aged and found that his mother's detachment wasn't a new development. It was in actuality normal for her. The most she exerted herself outside of her sphere of comfort was with her minimalistic involvement with both himself and his first sister. He was the heir and the ticket to her security and his sister was her obvious favorite and source of her feminine pride.

She poured lessons expected of a lady into her favored daughter and tried to ingrain the Hightower allegiance into the little girl in their daily viewings. Beyond that she left every other responsibility in their grandmother's hands and his Lord Father's.

While it was slightly less involvement than most ladies of the Reach, it was not uncommon behavior. At least not that he noticed amongst the higher tiered houses in Reach Nobility. It seemed the higher up in power, wealth and influence a lady married, the less involved she became once she had performed as expected of her and fulfilled the letter of her roles to a myriad of degrees. Then, as he had observed repeatedly, most ladies played as they pleased. The result being that the political games and machinations of the Reach were amongst the most advanced, delicate, and cutthroat in all the Seven Kingdoms. Everyone knew 'The Game' of politics and power as well as they each knew the steps of dances and reels in the most complicated of patterns and all played it.

With the exceptions of certain key families in the remaining realm, Willas might have almost been moved to pity the other Seven Kingdoms for their lack of training in the political mine fields. However, that was ridiculous sentiment to bear as well, considering those same kingdoms would not hesitate to conquer, plunder, and destroy the Reach if given the right means, motive and opportunity. When caught between dueling powers such as the Stormlands and the Westerlands and an ancestral enemy on one's border with Dorne, one tended to be rather lacking on the softer, meeker emotions that were born of naivety and luxury.

Which, returning to his original line of thought, was probably why his father in a moment of wisdom most likely chose to marry a Hightower. Most everyone Knew the rumored rigid strictures of the Hightower Family. That they ingrained duty to family and house first above all else, even should the daughters and sons be wed away from the main house as well as only the best would do for a Hightower. And if a Hightower was well kept, they had no reason to stray beyond their own comforts…Which really explained a lot actually.

Willas theorized that while their mother would have loved all the entrapment of a queen and none the duties, she acted as one regardless. Especially now that she had done her duty in producing a fine litter of Tyrell progeny and wanted to collect on her reward for perfunctorily performing her roles. But that was his private opinion.

She wasn't a cruel person necessarily. And she did run an excellent household. But beyond that, well, no one could accuse her of being overtly maternal. Nor could it be said that she possessed the same brashness his Grandmother wielded. She might have taken a more key role in Highgarden had his Grandmother not been amongst their number, however as that was not the case, he figured she yielded to the elder woman and left well enough alone she was happy in her trappings and with his Lord Father and that was apparently enough.

So he was indeed somewhat thankful for that. At the very least theirs was a home that was not rife with intrigue or dramatics. Not that their grandmother would tolerate such, however with both of their parents content there was a peaceful sort of normalcy to their lives in Highgarden.

And he was not about to change that.

Willas was broken from his thoughts as they entered into the main living quarters of the keep. The sight of the two Tyrell boys returning with the missing child allowed for the household to call off the search and return to its normal activities.

Garlan had been reminded of a topic he wished to address with his brother before news of Hermina's disappearance sent the servants scurrying about in a frantic search. He and Willas were in the practice yard and they both caught wind of the disturbance and jumped right in, both ignoring the fact that they left their training unfinished. He was sure they would feel their Master-at-Arms displeasure when they returned, however their sister took priority.

It was when they passed the practice lists that Garlan felt his inquiry return with a vengeance. He increased his pace to pull even with his taller brother so that they could speak without being overheard by the servants.

"When do you think you'll be ready?"

"For what?"

"Don't be daft, I overheard Father. When will you enter the lists"

Willas' expression soured considerably. "Not before I have to. I am nowhere near ready. You know this, I know this, Seven Hells even our old, deaf, and blind hound knows this."

"That never stopped Father before," Garlan reasoned, "He will get his way, eventually."

"Indeed he will, but not before he wears down Ser Damyn and Gerrod, and I'd wager that will take at least a year or two before he is frustrated enough to order them as their Lord. But not before then If I have any say. And if he presses, I will involve grandmother if I have to." Willas slightly winced at the thought of using his Grandmother as his Ace in the hole.

Garlan had a mischievous grin splayed across his sunny features, "you wish to unleash her upon him?"

Willas displeasure could not be masked as he sputtered, "She's not exactly a weapon you know."

"Could have fooled me." Garlan muttered. Willas favored his younger brother with the infuriating look all elder siblings universally sported.

"She _has_ fooled you, many times." Willas stated matter-of-factually. Garlan sprung up straight like a grasshopper with indignation.

"Did not!"

"Did too."

"When?"

"How about at the banquet for last spring harvest?" Garlan reddened at the memory. However he instantly rejoined in defense of his honor and actions.

"I was simply being gallant." Willas was able to hide his predatory grin with his additional height, though he did step a bit more smartly. Ah, the advantages of being an elder sibling.

"Or at the tourney celebrating the Maiden's Festival in Oldtown this past autumn."

"Good manners are not remiss you know."

"Or the Conqueror's Festival." Garlan slid in front of his brother, a dangerous look of promised retribution upon his features.

"You would thoroughly unman me, brother-mine, for showing respect to our dear Grandmama. "

"One would first have to _be_ a man firstly to be unmanned, oh gallant ser." Willas needled back and dodged around his brother's lunge, his baby sister relatively undisturbed by it all, before striding hurriedly into the keep. Garlan close on his heels snarling threats at his back.

With her cheek resting on her brother's shoulder, Hermina listened to her brothers bicker and simply enjoyed the feeling of utter safety Willas provided her. In that moment she could almost believe that nothing would ever happen to them. Almost.

* * *

 _To Be Continued…_

* * *

A/N:*waves white flag in surrender from where author melted into a goo-shaped puddle* This chapter hurt to write. Hopefully it isn't too boring. I haven't truly picked at it, so I apologize for any major plot holes. My brain went and died on me. I have to go revive it (*sigh*)

...

I might edit my utterly horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad pseudo-Shakespearean one of these days (then again why 'should' Death _have_ perfectly good Elizabethan English? *ponders the mystery*).

Do I bash? Not really. I don't write a world that revolves around a perfect? Harry or Ron. The books conclusion does not absolve them of flaws. And *news flash* they _are_ imperfect humans; impatient, self-centered, stubborn, bull-headed, selfish, mercurial, angsty, jealous and fallible. Ron has demonstrated repeatedly that he's unreliable. Harry cannot comprehend what it means to lose or sacrifice on the same level Hermione has, he can pseudo-empathize, but never understand.

The situation is from Hermione's confused, muddled POV. She's neither unbiased nor a paragon of virtue. She is grieving, regretful, angry (oh so very angry), betrayed and confuzzled in the highest. Alas she has no library to run to, to help her sort out her knowledge or guide her.

**Think on this though; of the three protagonists, who was it that sacrificed the most? Who was the most vulnerable? Who had the most to lose?

 _ **Random Factoid:**_

In the Celtic tree calendar, the vine is a symbol of passionate emotions in each extreme — both happiness and wrath. It was connected to the autumn equinox, when there are equal hours of darkness and light, and thus to balance, as well as to the harvest, a time of growth and achieving goals.

…

 _ **Next Chapter:**_ **A Gift of the Green**

OceFossa 12/17/16, 1/10/17, 1/15/17


	6. A Gift of the Green

**The Lords Paramount**

By

OceFossa

…

Plot © OceFossa

A Song of Ice and Fire © George R.R. Martin

Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling

…

 **Chapter 6: A Gift of the Green**

…

Horses thundered down the lists as the season of summer tourneys in the Reach were in full swing. All the houses, major and minor, as well as the small folk turned up for the festivities and Lord Paramount was no exception.

Down the row of tents sectioned off by the different plots that nobles reserved for themselves and their families lay a particularly rich cluster proclaiming the wealth, status, and grandeur of the party that claimed it. Flapping above the tents was the Tyrell House Rose could be seen proudly displayed upon the heraldry. The golden crest so carefully painted upon the fine green weave and flashed in the golden light of the Reach sun.

For all of the beauty of the day, it was marred by one unhappy young knight-in-training. Willas sighed as he took in the various pieces of his tourney armour, well, actually more like slumped and groaned than sighed. He picked at the carefully soldered metallic wire that was formed into long looping designs to simulate vines. It was skillfully crafted, that he had to admit. However, it was also equally opulent, garish and over the top. In short everything he was looking at represented his Lord Father and fashioned in like taste to the man's specifications. He had vainly hoped that the smithies would use some sense and tailor down the detail work to a simple few embellishments. Apparently, those faint hopes had been in vain.

He really should have known better. He did not want to spend the summer just before his sixteenth nameday tied up in the lists and parading around in the suffocating plate armour like a peacock.

A goblet of some watered wine was shoved under his nose. He accepted it with thanks and carefully took a few sips before setting it aside, having no stomach for drink. His younger brother went about his chores while they took their time with the preparations. It seemed they both wished to dally as long as they could before Willas had to be dressed in the mummer's suit.

Garlan was acting as his valet and temporary squire for this event. His thirteen soon to be fourteen nameday old brother was his shadow for this tournament. He eyed his gangly brother. Garlan had just started growing and had seemingly shed his baby fat overnight. There was no telling what his eventual height would be. For now, though he seemed to follow the same pattern Willas had which meant they would be practically identical in build and size. Something he would have to consider later. What was readily apparent though was neither of them was eager for the sporting events to come.

His musing was interrupted by feminine shouting, Willas straightened and turned towards his tent door, his brother beating him there. Garlan had dropped whatever he was doing and was already striding towards the front to investigate when the flap of his tent flipped open and a blur shot into the room. A moment later a harried maid was occupying the door but didn't enter.

The moment Willas recognized his visitor, a huge grin lit his face and he swooped down on the imp in two steps. With almost no effort he lifted up the bundle of fabric and twirled them around amidst squeals and childish giggles. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Garlan wave off the nursemaid and close the flap again to allow them some privacy.

"Willas."

"Well met Hermina, now," Willas tweaked her nose, "what are you doing here?"

"Margaery said I should give you a favour." She held up a crumpled green handkerchief. The wrinkled wad of cloth unfurled proudly from the ball it had been. Hermina continued with an air of childish authority, she knew what she was talking about. "She said it was the good and proper thing to do."

Willas graciously accepted the creased fabric patch that had served as his sister's handkerchief and handed it to a grinning Garlan. His brother would probably stuff it amongst his things when he wasn't looking.

"And I would be honored, little lady," Willas grinned as Hermina's face scrunched in distaste, "alas, I regret to tell you sister, but Lady Florent has already requested that I wear her token."

He gestured towards the garish scarf attached to the crest of his helm. Thankfully crest itself wasn't one large gaudy rose as he feared, rather it was a partial arc of vines and flowers made only elaborate by the detail work that went into it.

Hermina eyed her brother's overly elaborate Garniture with even more pronounced distaste. It seemed their Lord Father wanted to make a statement of wealth through her brother's armour.

Willas caught her look and laughed, giving her a careful pat on the head after he set her down on the ground again. He certainly would not be willing to face his Grandmother's ire over mussing up his youngest sister's carefully plated hairdo. The Seven only knew that she somehow found a way to do that all on her own as well as forever smudging her dresses. The maids were always lamenting over his sister's laundry.

Garlan had no such compunctions as he snuck up on the troublesome waif and ruffled her hair leaving several artistic strands sticking up every which way. His sister glared at him.

"No greeting for me, Hermina? I'm hurt."

"Not unless you've been good." She looked up at her towering brother, "Has he been good." Of course Willas didn't hesitate answering.

"Not in the slightest."

"Such Love!" Their brother cried dramatically, theatrically making as if to faint. Hermina giggled as Willas rolled his eyes. He looked at his sister.

"You should be going."

"Don't forget." What was he talking abou- _Oh_. Oh that. Well now he knew where her priorities were.

"Hermina."

"You Promised." He did, however the Citadel was far off in Oldtown and he was not taking his precious sister there at her age. She would just have to sate her strange obsession with tomes to their own library for the time being. And he didn't have the heart to tell her of the maesters' monopoly on knowledge yet.

"Very well, _when_ you are old enough." He stressed, "Now, you wouldn't want to keep Grandmama waiting." Hermina made a face but complied. Her brother was heading into the lists and she needed to go to the box where her family was.

She hadn't liked sport when she lived in England, however that paled in comparison to her aversion to it now. The very real possibility of death caused her much trepidation. She had assumed that it would be harmless however that illusion was wiped away by all that she had seen so far. She had taken for granted that safety measures and proverbial padded walls ensured the safety of most athletes in her first life. Now though, she found the rules had changed and those safety nets non-existent.

Worst still was that she didn't have her magic to help. She hadn't had any accidental burst since she'd arrived, it was terrifying. Now all she had to survive was her wits and mind alone rather than rely on her magic as another tool in her bag.

The young girl was shooed out of her brother's tent and into the waiting attendant's arms. The nursemaid hurried her away from the tents, they were late to the box already. As she was led away, Hermina turned back and waved. Both teens returned the gesture. Willas watched as his baby sister was swept away to his Grandmother's protective side and waited until she was out of sight before moving. Had she been his other siblings he wouldn't have worried as much. Margaery and Loras, six and eight respectively, had been swept away to their Hightower relatives along with their Lady Mother.

Hermina had of course insisted on coming to watch him and he was seemingly helpless to deny her anything. The heir amended that though, he would deny her nothing within in limits of course. He had placed conditions on her that he expected her to follow.

She had to stay with their grandmother at all times and she had to be on her best behavior. It was something she solemnly swore to do which would have to be good enough. She was of an age in which energy seemed endless and the world needed to be explored. They were still working on having her sit still and learn some ladylike lessons. Neither had been successful in the slightest.

Willas shook himself. He would need to concentrate for the clashes to come. He stooped back into his tent, all pretense of lightheartedness gone now. Garlan gave him a rather grim look as they start the tedious task of dressing him for the joust.

He felt his irritation grow as the amount of buckles and latches seemed to spawn into the multitudes with easy new piece. When the last plate was in place with a snap of a buckle he was relieved. Until he tried to move. He swore violently.

"Swing your arms around." Garlan advised. "Try to loosen it up a bit and get a feel for the plating."

After several minutes of trying, and failing, to follow Garlan's suggestion Willas growled in frustration. _By the Seven_ , didn't his father have a lick of sense when he ordered this monstrosity? Was he trying to hand the other competitors victories? He couldn't move, how was he expected to fight?

He continued awkwardly trying to work the joints and articulation of the plating loose. It was slow progress and laborious.

Maybe he would bow out with grace in the first round? It was a nice thought. Hopeful even. Willas simply counted himself fortunate that he only had to compete in one event. All he had to do was acquit himself admirably and their House honor would be intact.

His very sensible grandmother was able to talk his father down to just the jousts, that would work in his favor. Most everyone knew that the greatest fame that could be won to be won outside of war was in the lists. His father's fantastical dreams of his rise to legend amongst the Reach should be satisfied with that knowledge alone. Maybe.

He bent a little with far more mobility than he had before. Better but not by much. Garlan picked up his brother's helm. "It's almost time."

Willas grimly tried to march out the front entrance and found even that was difficult. His dignity would be taking many hits this day. Garlan had to hide his snickers as his elder brother waddled from the tent. He really shouldn't have been amused by his elder brother's misfortune, however it was simply a sight he would never see again if Willas had any say about his future martial career.

Willas for his part was feeling like a training dummy. He had minimal movement at best and his mobility non-existent. It was just enough to hold the lance and steer his charger, but that was all. It would have to take every ounce of his skill to dodge his opponents blows.

Garlan asked as they waited for the grooms to bring up his mount, "perhaps you'd like to see the coronels dressing the tips of your lances."

"Those too?" The plaintive almost dismal whine barely squeaked past the slit in his helm. Garlan was fairly was sure Willas' armor was what was holding him up as he visibly slumped in defeat.

"Shall I describe them to you?" Willas glowered at the 'helpfulness' of Garlan's question. He definitely did not like the cheeky tone of his brother's question, especially when he was feeling miserable.

"No."

The flat reply must have revealed more than he thought because Garlan immediately silenced himself.

For all his baby sister brightened his day, the moment he strapped on his armor he felt his mood souring. Willas further deflated when the Horse Master led his mockery of a mount up to him. At the very least his charger was only partially gilded. The chamfron face-plate over his horse's head was just as ridiculous at his own armour. The articulated crinet protecting the horse's neck was lavishly engraved and he had no words appropriate to describe the absurdity that made up the cantle of the saddle, let alone the pommel. Even his stirrups were garishly decorated.

He didn't even have to look back at Garlan to know his younger brother was wearing a very similar chagrined expression to his own. Luckily the caparison was left off, leaving silver gilded leather tack which in Willas' opinion was more than enough. The addition of the cloth would have been too much.

* * *

Garlan was fairly sure that the death trap his brother was wearing should have been more mobile than it appeared. The design of it led his to believe it was. He had snickered when he first unwrapped the plating, laying them out so that he might help his brother suit up more easily. They were all so impractical. He was regretting the fact and wishing he'd disobeyed his Lord Father and pulled out he plain armour they both were used to.

Now though, he wanted to grab the nearest sword and make a few necessary 'adjustments' to the grandiose plating. Their father was ridiculous when hit came to making a spectacle. The sad part was that he didn't have to try, he simple acted. And if the continued laments of their grandmother were to be believed, then he'd always been a special kind of vapid.

The young squire helped Willas scramble onto the horse. It wasn't a pretty sight and the weight had the horse sidestepping as it was pulled about by the young heir as he attempted to mount. It took himself, their Master-at-Arms, and at the very least two other grooms to help shove Willas on the damned beast. It kept prancing around even with the Horse Master at its head.

The charger was greener than he would have liked, in fact he didn't like it at all. However, it seemed their lord father had overruled them in this area too. He eyed the beast considering and then mentally snorted, Garlan just bet that his father chose the horse because he looked 'the part' of Gallant Steed.

He was on the verge of ordering it back to the stables and having the old tourney destrier brought out. It at least was properly broke and experienced. The gelding also was their secondary mount should something happen to this horse and he was thinking that for Willas' first go in the lists that might be the safer and wiser.

He caught Ser Damyn's eye and nodded to the horse itself. The older knight gave a slight shake of his head. He mentally swore. _Well, the Seven bedamned_. It seems their Lord Father ordered this particular horse to be used.

The beast grunted as Willas finally settled into the saddle. He was obviously ill suited to the wider tree of the saddled seat and it looked monstrously uncomfortable. And that was without the restrictive armour.

Garlan gave them a once over and begrudgingly admitted, if only to himself, that his brother looked he very picture of Gallant Knight. That still didn't make him feel any better about this farce.

He watched as Ser Damyn handed the reins to his brother, or tried to. Willas had to somewhat strain to reach the proffered leathers. The younger Tyrell watched as he settled back in and find his seat. A small mercy in all of this. And then his brother was off, and judging by the way the charger moved, no one would be any wiser as to Willas' lack of mobility. And, unfortunately, appearances were everything.

"Follow him." Ser Damyn brooked no arguments and Garlan hadn't felt the need to put up any. He simply strode off after his brother in the guise a of a squire at the ready.

Garlan's eyes went hard and his lips thinned. He sincerely hoped his elder brother made it out of this alive and intact. Because if not he would add another moniker to his 'Gallant' title, and that would be 'The Bloody'.

* * *

Hermina trotted dutifully beside the nurse as she was led to stands where her family was seated. Well to be more specific, where her grandmama had taken over and the flock of Reach fluff, like pigeons, had scattered elsewhere for seating. She had been primped, polished and stuffed in a dress that was befitting her station and had not enjoyed it one jot.

It was more tedious than getting ready for the Yule Ball, and that was the first time she had _tried_ to look like a lady. The memory caused a smile to appear. That night had actually been magical until Ron ruined it all. By then she had been safely handed to the Grande Dame and the nursemaid retreated to an out of the way corner.

Her grandmother had clucked at her mussed hair and Margaery had giggled at her less polished appearance, but otherwise pulled her in the bench next to herself and Grandmama. Hermina grinned and hugged her sister. The older girl had wiggled out of her mother's planned meeting with relatives by prevailing upon their grandmother and now was there to share the experience.

The youngest Tyrell sat still in her seat for all of a moment before she started fidgeting. Olenna allowed for the impropriety with an air of indulgence. She was a child after all.

"This is too early." Hermina's muttering were almost inaudible above the the roars of the crowds.

"There's nothing we can do about that now, can we?" Lady Olenna clucked tartly stopping the child's complaints. They eerily echoed her own thoughts. However, there was nothing to be done.

She eyed her intelligent youngest grandchild. Hermina was different. Olenna couldn't quite suss-out what set her apart yet, but she resolved to watch over the girl as she grew. Margaery on the other hand was showing all the signs that the Grande Dame had hoped for and had begun molding her to her potential.

Hermina meanwhile, was all that an energetic child should be and there was no end to her adventures. The little girl just could not sit still long enough and got into more trouble than her four elder siblings combined. Until she was older and more of her personality and mind appeared, Olenna decided to keep her instruction to a minimum. Her mind was rather preoccupied with another grandchild entirely.

At fifteen Willas had been ordered by their Lord Father to enter the lists despite protests from all quarters. The Great Oaf was determined to have another Leo 'Longthorn' Tyrell in their house as a hundred years had passed since such a notable knight had graced the ranks of the Paramount House of the Reach.

She couldn't decide if it was luck or misfortune that Willas' first tourney was against the famed Red Viper of Dorne. As if summoned, the next set of competitors trotted out and made a show for the crowds. The cheering became more raucous as each knight rode by.

The burnished copper of the shield shone brightly in the midsummer afternoon. The entire shield of the Dornish Prince seemed to glow like the sun that was emblazoned on it. He was a crowd favorite, despite the ancestral animosity between the Reach and Dorne.

Then Willas' charger pranced out, all decked out in its plates. Whereas Prince Oberyn glowed, the heir of Highgarden gleamed. And for what it was worth, he did look like one of the romantic tales come to life. The entire ensemble positively glittered from afar. Hermina heard many ladies around then swoon at the sight.

Lady Olenna scoffed at that.

Willas' own charger seemed calm enough despite the deafening raucous cheers and noises as it made its rounds before settling on the side of the lists they would start from. Hermina frowned in thought. Was it new? She had never remembered seeing her brother astride such a beast before. She had at least expected him to be upon his old nag for his first tourney. Apparently, that was not the case.

The crowd quieted as the knights settled in their respective starting positions. Anticipation heavy in the air.

The signal was given and the knights were off, thundering down the lanes. Both blurring past the crowds in flashes of light and color. Each gracefully lowered their lances as their beasts charged. They struck each other resoundingly, both lances exploding. The jousters galloped away as pieces of their lances showered on the ground.

No verdict was called.

Both knights made it back to their squires and were rearmed with fresh lances. Then they wheeled around and charged again. They made another pass, the clang of their lances on their armour sounded over the din of the crowd.

In the stands, watching wide-eyed both girls clutched onto their grandmothers' skirt. She was sitting silently as well. All attention was riveted on her grandchild. Lord Mace Tyrell was bellowing loudly as his heir expertly wheeled his mount about and began another assault.

His charger tripped and stumbled, jostling Willas from his seat, causing him twisted slightly, dodging Prince Oberyn's lance and strike. His encranche visibly wrenched away from its holding position. They pulled up at the end of the lists, the heir struggling to regain control of his seat and his mount.

"Failure to present." The Knight Marshal called out, "Once more, My Lord, and you shall be disqualified." The warning was directed at Willas who tilted his helm in acknowledgment. Barely.

And they were once more thundering towards each other. The two had successful passes where the each splintered several lances. Fragments of wood showered the crowds. The grounds crew hurriedly mopped up the mess as the jousters reset.

The Knight Marshall called out his verdict. "Two tilts to none."

Hermina held her breath. If Willas held out one more tilt or failed to present, he would be safe. Granted he would lose, but he would be safe.

"The approach is wrong." One of the nearby knights commented.

Hermina's gaze was riveted to the lists. She honestly couldn't tell the truth of the statement. Willas looked like he was in a solid position. Then Prince Oberyn struck him. The force of the blow unseated him, throwing him off balance, and his charger wheeled around practically sitting on its haunches.

Hermina's heart leapt to her throat when her brother was tossed from the saddle. Screams from the crowd drowned out all other sounds. She watched in horror as the events unfolded before her young eyes.

* * *

Willas felt himself being thrown from the saddle. He tried to tuck in on himself to cushion his fall and clear his saddle. He smacked against the ground with a resounding thwack.

The elaborate sabaton that Lord Mace had ordered for his foot armour hooked on his stirrup and caught him. Leaving the young jouster to be dragged helplessly along as his mount panicked.

In desperation, he made a grab for the stirrups to dislodged the catch. He tried wrestling his foot from the catch, however the horse careened wildly and flung him about like a rag doll. The teen was utterly helpless when he smacked into a wooden beam wrenching his grip from his foot.

The charger, spooked by the screaming crowds and the sudden creature being dragged beside it kicked out and caught Willas with several solid hits, denting his plated armour and snapping his helm back, then bolted forward only to crash into the polls of the center barricade of the lists.

The jolt sent the flopping jouster tumbling across the grounds. He lay where he landed, lifeless.

A flash of bronze leapt for the reigns and wrestled the panicking beast when a second blur charged from the other side and caught the opposite rein. The weight suddenly dragging down its head stopped the charger cold, though its eyes were still rolled back, its nostrils flared, and it was snorting heavily while its danced in place.

Somewhere to their side a lady fainted. The crowds were panicking.

Margaery was clutching onto their grandmother, hiding her eyes in the folds of the matron's dress. Olenna was shouting for someone to help her grandson. Lord Mace Tyrell was roaring ineffectually from his seat. And Hermina, silent and pale as a ghost, heard none of it. She simply stared. The image of Willas' limp body forever seared in her mind.

Her brother lay there like a broken rag doll and all Hermina could think of was getting to his him. She slipped out of her Grandmother's horrified grip and wormed her way through the panicking crowds, diving between legs, squeezing between bodies, crawling and pushing her way through the people in front of her.

Hermina flew to his side. She tried not to look at his leg that was twisted at a sickening angle.

"Willas." She shook his shoulder, "Willas?"

* * *

Oberyn watched out of the corner of his eye as the small girl-child tried to wake his opponent and his heart involuntarily clenched. He couldn't hear what she was saying over the screams of the crowds but she obviously loved him. For a moment, the girl was replaced with the memory of another as Elia's ghost overshadowed the fallen body of Doran when his elder brother collapsed form ill-health for the first time.

She wrestled the helmet off the unconscious knight and he was struck again by how young the face was of the young man revealed. It was one thing to know he had been dueling with was the Tyrell Heir. It was an entirely different experience to be confronted by fact. And the fact the boy was too young. Far too young to be in the lists.

He caught the eyes of the younger teen who was helping him hold the beast in place while the blasted grooms took forever to relieve them.

"Did he choose this?" The prince inquired of the young boy practically dangling off the counter rein. He was met by a simple shake of the head. Tuning to the stands, he looked over at the Liege Lord's family still seated there. Taking in the ludicrous embellishments of the Reach Lord and then looking in between the two siblings on the field, Oberyn concluded that the entire garniture was order by the Fat Flower rather than something the young man would choose.

Lord Mace Tyrell was on his feet, roaring. His threats being drowned out by the still screaming crowds as the lathered, white eyed charger still swung around threateningly, dragging Oberyn and Garlan about. A few times it kicked out and tried to rear.

Finally, finally the grooms had pushed through the crowds and relieved them. He watched as six or seven men struggled to drag away the frightened horse. It bolted and reared several times causing the crown to give it a wide berth.

He finally returned his attention to the fallen boy and found him surrounded by Tyrell men and the little girl was gathered into the arms of a nursemaid. The boy was transferred to a long wooden board and quickly rushed off the yard. A slew of people trailing behind them.

Oberyn found himself waylaid by the ridiculously dressed Lord of the Reach. He swelled like a toad and was red with temper.

"This is all your fault Martell." The Fat Flower bellowed, "You'll pay for this."

The Dornish prince merely raised an eyebrow and turned on his heel, vacating the grounds and leaving the blustering windbag in his wake. He would need to be ready to leave should events grow more hostile. Until then he would await his next opponent. He had a tourney to win.

* * *

A pall fell over the Tyrell Household as the heir lay unconscious in his tent. The maesters had not been able to do anything for the fallen lad and had not given a hopeful diagnosis. Their grim tidings had sent their mother Alerie into histrionic fits. Lady Olenna called them a useless lot and promptly expelled them from the Tyrell camp.

Plans were in the works to remove him back to Highgarden. However, no one was willing to move the invalid. They did not want to exacerbate his wounds any more than they had to. Also his mother was rather hysterical at the moment and prone to fainting fits and all manners of feminine delicacy. And his father was not willing to risk his Lady Wife when she was in that state of upheaval. Nor was he willing to further injure his heir.

So far, the plans were that once Willas woke, because no one was willing to think otherwise, that they would move then. He would be conscious then.

Garlan had no opinion either way. He had been too busy destroying the blasted armour with a stolen smithy's hammer. At least until Ser Damyn and Gerrod both wrestled it away from him and forcefully held him down until he stopped seeing red. Though he still vacillated between, rage, grief , and no small amount of blame shifting. Their Master-at-Arms was off smelting the cursed armour into something more useful, like some toys for Loras or something. At this point he didn't care.

So there he was in the privacy of his brother's sick tent, keeping watch for the heir's safety and standing vigil for any change. He had been there a full day and night already as his family flitted in and out of the tent. None of their younger siblings were allowed anywhere near the tent. Not even willful Hermina. Their mother demanded that they stay close to her and Lady Olenna was just as watchful. His Father had retreated to his tent and had not been seen since. They were all simply waiting.

Fatigue slowly ate at him. A young teen of thirteen, though closer to fourteen namedays, this truly was the first time he'd ever held such a prolonged task. His eyes felt heavier as each hour ticked slowly by and there was no change with is elder brother.

Nodding off for the third time in so many minutes, Garlan decided he needed to refresh himself. He moved to a side table that held a pitcher of water and bowl for washing. He yawned widely as he picked up the pitcher and tilted it to pour.

He looked back at Willas to see if there was any change. Nope. None. Somewhat disappointed, Garlan's tired mind took a moment to realize that he couldn't hear the water pouring into the bowl. He looked and blinked.

Rubbed his eyes and blinked again. The water that should have been pouring the bowl was floating in a stream towards him and however in front of his face at eye level.

Garlan yelped and dropped the clay pitcher which cracked when it hit the ground, the strand of water lost its form and broke apart as it splashed upon the ground, splattering everywhere and leaving small puddles on the ground.

He was seeing things, he was sure of it. The teen was wide awake now. He looked around wildly, no one was there to see that. He was alone. _Thank the Seven for small blessings._

The flap wrenched open and the guard stepped in alert and ready. "I heard a noise, Milord." He took in the appearance of the young teen, he was wide eyed and tensed. The man scanned the tent looking for a threat. All he saw was the injured heir, the broken pitcher and water everywhere.

Garlan waved him off, "I was surprised is all."

The man looked unsure, "If you say so."

Not wanting to lie and not really sure what to say, the youth shrugged, "I am well. There is no change in my brother I fear."

He then asked, "Is Gerrod awake."

"Yes, Milord."

"Good, call him to me."

"Yes, Milord." The guard stepped out leaving Garlan alone once more. He saw the shadow of another guard outside take up watch.

Garlan turned and rubbed a hand down his face. He must be tired, there was no other explanation. He was seeing things and his exhaustion was the only reason for what he saw. His mind made up. Once his relief came he would head to his tent, get some sleep, clean up and change into a fresh set and return when he was fully alert. He was no good to Willas half mad or delusional.

The tent flap opened and in strode their old retainer. Garlan gave him a nod. Gerrod along with Ser Damyn were chiefly responsible with raining both himself and Willas in the martial ways of knights and there were no others he trusted more. The man was completely loyal to house Tyrell alone.

"Thank you for coming so quickly. I fear I am too tired to keep vigil properly." The elder man shook his head and replied gruffly.

"Off with you, young lord."

Without a word, Garlan somewhat staggered to the front door, his fatigue returning with a vengeance. He didn't even notice the guard that took up step behind him.

Gerrod watched the Tyrell lad stride away his steps somewhat heavy. The lad did good staying for as long as he had, it spoke of his resolve and will. Both good traits for a knight. He looked towards the young heir still unconscious on the cot and inwardly sighed. 'Twas a damn shame. The lad was great knight and lord in the making.

He stepped forward to take the seat next to Willas to begin his vigil. A loud squelch stopped him right then. He then looked around and noticed water everywhere. _What in the Seven Hells?_

Gerrod looked around the tent, taking in the details of the broken pitcher and the spilt water. The boy must have dropped the pitcher when he was falling asleep he supposed dismissing the occurrence. It made sense.

The old blade master picked up the pitcher and stowed it on the side table and taking the seat beside Willas' bed. He had a long night ahead of him.

* * *

They had removed to Highgarden with no change in Willas' condition. His leg ad been set and that was all. The dour maesters had their grim predictions that he would never again function in full and always be a cripple. If he lived that was. They weren't sure if he could even walk as no one knew the extent of his injuries.

Hermina was not allowed to see her elder brother or even visit him. The maesters had convinced, someone, that she would only hinder his recovery and maybe bring diseases with her so she was summarily banned from his bed side. She didn't even have her second favorite brother to comfort her.

It seemed like the playful brother she knew in Garlan had vanished overnight in more ways than one. Hermina was beside herself when she began to realize this. The damned tournament had taken both of her brothers and best friends from her in one shot and there was nothing she could do about it.

Considered too young to understand and too young for anything more than a few rudimentary lessons on Lady's Courtly behaviors and roles, she was left mostly in the hands of a few trusted nursemaids and mostly alone. She was the youngest at five and thus mostly overlooked.

Garlan was gone from her life. Over the past week he'd been tied up with their father and grandmother with Reach matters as they began training him up to takeover Willas' position.

Loras was being prepared to be sent off for fostering with the Baratheon's, at the King's command, and incredibly busy with some last-minute lessons. And Margaery was being tied up in more and more lessons and comforting of their mother who had taken to her bed and room, leaving the running of Highgarden largely in their grandmother's hands.

So Hermina had taken the first opportunity afforded her and slipped form her room once more. She needed the fresh air to clear her mind and to think. Being cooped up again in her nursery was a clear invitation to have cabin fever and boredom. Also it did nothing to take her mind off of her lonely situation and Willas' grim condition.

The youngest Tyrell had become more adept at sneaking around the great keep over the years. Highgarden and its paths were more and more familiar to her with each escape. And she could get away with it because she was a child, it was fantastic!

As it was late, the castle had gone to sleep and Hermina decided it was the perfect time for her get away. her goal this time being slightly different. So after some sneaking and dodging of the guards, she made it safely to one of the side gardens that was closest to her nursery entrance. A small cherry grove that was enclosed and private, exactly what she needed.

Hermina went and plopped down on the cut grass and breathed in the night air. All was silent and peaceful for the Reach. It was a moonless night with only stars dotting the vast skies.

She did not visit the Singers. It was too far for her at the moment and it was in the twilight of morning. Hermione might have been brave, but that did not mean she wasn't cautious. And right then she simply didn't have the emotional fortitude to attempt a trip.

So she sat as time slowly crawled by. Nothing in particular crossed her mind as she just sat and listened to the night with closed eyes. Sometimes she reached out her senses, like she had at Hogwarts and imagined her magic there waiting for her.

She felt it. Briefly for a moment, but she felt it. The thrum of power just beyond her reach. Her magic.

Thoroughly distracted from her anxiety about Willas, she concentrated on the welcoming warm feeling that she remembered from her first world.

 _Maybe._ The thought whispered in her ear, _maybe she could help Willas._

She felt it again. Magic. Though it wasn't directed by her. Something stirring in the earth nearby. Startled, Hermione opened her eyes and looked around. Nothing moved in the still gardens. _Nothing, no, wait, there!_

She got up, not bothering to straighten her dress and wandered a bit closer to get a better look. A small bump in the ground at the base of a blossoming cherry tree grew moved ever so slightly. Then in moved again and grew before her eyes.

A shoot pierced the layer of earth and vaulted upward. It was unlike anything she'd seen before. Not in her memories of the flowers and wilds of England or Scotland. Not in the lush valleys of France, and nothing remotely similar to the usual blooms tended here in Highgarden.

Floored she watched as the nameless plant grew and grew and grew. In the dark moonless night she couldn't tell what kind of flower it was, or what color it's petal were darkening into, but this was the first sign of magic she'd had since she came to this life.

Hermione gasped as the bloom cracked open, its petals curling gently backwards revealing a the glowing stamens at the center. It shone like a small beacon in the moonless garden. It cast a faint glow amongst the garden.

She could see that it was a velvety blue flecked with bronze spots that glistened in the light. The tips of the petals were gilded with a shiny bronze and the blue was deep and rich looked to be the softest of velvets.

She reached out and touched the bud when the entire stem fell into her outstretched hand as if it had been shorn. Then she watched as the rest of the plant seemed to curl in on itself and shrink back into the ground. She stared back at the still glowing flower in her hand. It pulsed slightly.

She heard Garth's voice whisper in the darkness, _"These are your first steps…"_

* * *

 _To Be Continued…_

* * *

A/N: Random Note: If any of you might remember a beautifully illustrated book titled: _**The Twelve Dancing Princesses**_ by Marianna Mayer and Kinuko Y. Craft (March 24, 1989), then you'll understand the glowing flowers. As a child I was picky about the art in my reading materials and _all_ books were fair game (though I am still partial to Bill Peet, Paul Goble, Steven Kellog, Jan Brett and Herge), so while the story is a fairy tale retelling of the Brother's Grimm, it is an exceptionally illustrated one.

(*Toasts to illustrators and artistic standards that will never again be reached or exceeded*)

…

I wonder, has anyone considered using Neville Longbottom as a protagonist for Westerosi Fanfiction?

When I was writing up the Garth the Green part the idea struck me as how much more fitting he would be as the heir to the legendary gardener and progenitor of The Reach. Even more so than Hermione. Think of how awesome his gardening and creative his earth magic would be?

Alas I am already committed to this fict. Maybe some thought for the future?

Of course if any of you out there feel the twinge of creativity, that would be the muse knocking and telling you to fulfill poor OceFossa's wishes for a Neville protagonist (*hint*hint*), just let me know!

…

 _ **Next Chapter:**_ **A Change of Fate**

OceFossa 12/17/16, 1/15/17, 1/22/17


	7. Changing Course

**The Lords Paramount**

By

OceFossa

…

Plot © OceFossa

A Song of Ice and Fire © George R.R. Martin

Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling

…

 **Chapter 7: Changing Course  
**

…

Hermione stared at the bloom in her palms. It dwarfed both her hands and curled over the tips of her fingers like a lazy cat. She studied it a moment still trying wrap her head around the fact she had magic again and this flower had bloomed because of something she did.

She recognized the meaning behind the colors as well. Blue and bronze.

There was only one house that she knew of that had those colors, and it was one she did not belong to. However, it seemed she had been adopted into the house of knowledge and wit regardless of her choice.

Helena's cryptic warning, as well as assurance, slowly came back to her. It was not Godric Gryffindor or Nearly Headless Nick who looked over her and saved her from a nameless judgment, but the estranged Lady of Ravenclaw House.

That the bloom was not red and gold was also a small blow to her school pride, especially once she began analyzing it. Why was Gryffindor rejecting her? Had she not done more than enough for the house and its reputation than any other student since Hogwarts' founding?

Even as she retreated into her musings, the stamens glowed a bit more brightly. And with the small light she felt her magic ever so slightly. It was enough to bring her back to the present. When she went to Hogwarts, Hermione had never truly consciously felt the connection to magic the same way Luna or even Ginny claimed. Rather her proof was always in the results her wand produced.

The only time she remembered consciously feeling the difference was when she used Bellatrix Lestrange's wand which just felt wrong.

Now though, and faintly recalling that Garth the Green's words, she assumed her magic would take a different shape than what she was accustomed to. She also considered the fact that she would just have to work harder at all forms of magic, even more than what she was used to. She seemed to be sent here to learn and if what Helena had strongly hinted at was true, she would need her more Ravenclaw-like traits of wit and intelligence to become dominant and less her Gryffindor pride. In a very different sense she was mirroring Harry. He had let slip that the sorting hat had strongly considered him for Slytherin. In hindsight it would have been an interesting mix because Harry would have become more inclined to think and less inclined to react.

All of her musings and thoughts took place in a few moments. Her intellectual mind soon gave way to the wonder she felt simply feeling magic again. It buzzed just beyond her senses and she felt like all she had to do was reach out and touch it.

Even just holding the flower she was granted a new sense of awareness unlike any she'd ever perceived before. And if she were giving assumptions credence then logically she assumed that if she listened for her magic using the flower as a medium then she might learn something. The theory was a rather esoteric notion, one that was more befitting of Luna than herself.

 _It's worth a try._

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes simply listening and soaking up the stillness of the night air.

Everything was sharp to her senses; the cool crispness of the night air nipping at her skin, the dampness of the dew covered grass soaking through her slippers, the serenity of her little garden, all of it. She felt herself taking another breath and dove deeper deciding to trust her instincts.

Almost in something of a trance, the young westerosi girl slipped back into the keep and lightly as a cat and silently padded her way to the room of her injured brother. She was using her sense to guide her. Later Hermione would find it strange that she had passed no patrolling guards or even servants.

Her feet guided her and it was only when she came to a stop did she open her eyes. Slightly shocked, the young witch looked around as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She hadn't felt the difference of herself leaving the small garden and entering the castle.

Hermione inspected the space, her eyes adjusting to the dimness of the sickroom her oldest brother had been laid in. There was no fire in the hearth and the windows shutters were bolted shut. Other than that, there was truly nothing in the room, save only a small bench that held a large bowl, a smaller bowl, some cloths and a pitcher of water.

Then the smell hit her causing her to almost wretch. The acrid scent that was sickly sweet and utterly disgusting. There was also heavy sweat, musk, and body odor.

Hermione curled her lip in disgust that looked very out of place on a young girl's face. Did no one think to bathe her brother when he was sick?

She looked down at the bloom. _What now?_

* * *

Garlan meandered back towards his quarters having just been released from his father's study. They had been up late going over the various details upon details of _everything_.

He massaged the knot that developed between his shoulders, trying to work out the aching pinch that had developed there. The tension and stress was getting to him.

His head was always spinning these days. The information from all angles, thanks to his grandmother. The economics of trade, the political alliances (and feuds) of The Reach families, the various small folk and their guilds, the religious powers that tried to exert more influence over the southern kingdom, the list was endless. It was all levels of complicated and made him marvel at his grandmother whom he was beginning to see beyond just an outspoken lady, and respect his father a modicum more because of all of the trifles he dealt with daily.

 _How had Willas dealt with this?_

The wonder was ringed with pain. His elder brother had always been the serious one. The one who had all the answers, the endless patience, the clearheaded wisdom to judge honorably and fairly, in short he was in Garlan's eyes the perfect heir. And if those thoughts had a smidgen of hero-worship, well, who could blame him?

He, on the other hand, was the young knight-in-training who was to be his brother's bannerman and would do his bidding at a moment's notice. Garlan was also, as a younger brother, allowed many liberties that only came with being immediate family. Willas would have reacted rather poorly had anyone other than Little Mina or himself teased him as they were wont to do.

Movement ahead caught him by surprised and drew his attention. His curiosity was piqued when he identified the figure. _What was she doing here?_

Garlan caught his littlest sister sneaking Willas' room. The same room the maesters had strictly forbidden her from going into. Mainly because they believed that she would cause bad humors to develop in their sickly brother or be stricken down by evil spirits or some such rot. Garlan's rather low opinion of maesters in general dropped to nonexistent and what little respect he had, was summarily demolished with how poorly they handled the emergency of his brother's injury and aftermath.

 _What was she holding? A candle? How did she get her hands on one of those, they locked them up for a reason!_

He couldn't get a good look at what was in her hands. More curious than a cat, Garlan snuck up behind her, his tiredness forgotten. This could prove interesting.

He also decided that once she was done visiting he could scold her on the way back to her nursery. It was his duty as the responsible elder brother after all. Mental plan in place he slid in behind his sister and watched from his place on the wall next to the door.

* * *

 _What to do? What to do?_

There was a bowl of some type of fired clay. And there was water in the pitcher. _Could she do something with that?_

A most natural thought occurred to her, tea. She mentally smacked a fist in the palm of her hand. Of course, that would be the most logical recourse. It was one of the safest and most gentle remedies for a sensitive and sickly stomach.

 _Now what to use?_

She carefully set down the flower on the bench and picked some of the few items she had available, her mind mentally working the problem. She turned the larger bowl this way and that, looking it over and simply thinking. Improvisation was, at least, one of her strong suits.

 _Better than nothing._

Deciding that she had what she needed for her impromptu idea, she replaced the bowl on the bench and then struggled with the rather large pitcher of water. She grunted under the weight and had just enough strength to tip it over and pour the contents into the bowl. Some of the water splashed over the bench and the floor as she struggled to right the pitcher. Mentally she cursed her rather weak arms. She was still getting used to the limitations of a five year old body though it was very frustrating.

Hermione picked up the bowl of water, thankful that she had only filled it marginally and it was light enough for her to carry. The young witch concentrated on the bowl, hoping that her magic was still there, and willed it to heat up. Sweat began beading on her forehead as she concentrated on heating the water.

Finally, when she felt like she was ready to pass out, wisps began to appear and she sighed in relief. When it began to bubble, she deemed the water hot enough and clean enough.

She put the bowl down as it was just a bit too large for her small arms before turning to the bench and plucking the blossom from where it was perched, still glowing incandescently. She studied it for one last time. Still not quite sure of the illogical nature of her actions, but trusting her instincts regardless, Hermione dropped the bloom in the water with a plop and waited for it to seep.

Slowly she saw the colors bleed out of the flower and into the water, where they swirled about. A deep velvety blue marbled with strands of bronze that swirled around the increasingly lightening and drying petals of the shrinking flower. Once it was completely white it crumbled and sank into the water. Hermione watched in fascination as small glowing beads of the stamens floated to the surface and popped up in the swirling colors like small stars coming out in the night. And there they all swirled in the water in harmony of color, light, and wisps of heat dancing across the surface giving it a mystical look.

The small part of Hermione's mind devoted to her memories wistfully lamented that that was what she pictured potions to look like before she attended Hogwarts. She gently pushed the thought aside, still fascinated at what she was seeing.

The soft glow of it all was rather beautiful and Hermione simply gazed at it. Not even when they were brewing Felix Felicis was there ever a more elegant sight. If only their concoctions in Potions had been as equally aesthetically pleasing, then she would have been more inclined to research the art in addition to her runes, charms, and arithmancy studies. It was useful, but Professor Snape also dampened the experience to the point of almost ruining it for her. He had for Harry and Ron though to be fair, schooling and intellectual pursuits were hardly either boy's strength.

Hermione looked up at her elder brother still laid out on the sorry excuse of a bed. Even in the soft glow cast by her potion she could see that he had lost much of his pallor over the intervening week. His hair was greasy and his lips were dried and cracked. _What had those maesters been doing? Not healing that's for sure!_ Thankfully it looked like his muscles hadn't quite atrophied as much as she had witnessed in the non-magical world disabled and physically impaired.

Shoring up her brazen courage and very much afraid of failure, the current form of a five nameday old Hermina gently lifted the almost too heavy bowl onto the bed and then scrambled up into it as well.

She pried open his mouth and dripped the watery concoction down her brother's throat and then gently massaged the muscles. She remembered reading about massaging the muscles gently to mimic the natural swallowing motion of the throat. She hoped it worked.

Hermione slowly tipped it in her brother's mouth a few drops at a time and repeated the mimicked swallowing motion. Soon most of the 'tea' was gone and she could see the dregs at the bottom of the bowl. Setting the bowl aside she wriggled off the bed and went for a rag which she then used to clean up the little droplets that she had spilled on Willas.

A small shuffling snapped her head up. She met the disbelieving eyes of her other elder brother.

 _Garlan._

Her pulse raced. _Uh oh!_

* * *

From his position by the door, where he snuck in, Garlan watched everything with wide-eyed disbelief and heart hammering in his chest. At first he thought it was a joke, then slowly it morphed into stunned disbelief as he watched his sister do something to the water bowl and then he stopped thinking at all when he saw the flower. One that he'd never seen before which was near impossible because Highgarden grew every type of flower native to Westeros. Every single one. Whether naturally or in a glass house. They had it. Even the infamous blue Winter Rose of the North. Which let only one explanation.

Magic.

What he was witnessing should not have been possible. Not in the slightest. Magic was a child's fairy tale or so they were told over and over again. That there was none left in the world, like there were no longer dragons. But then again _everyone **knew** that_ because the maesters knew that.

 _Boy, what have I told you about believing what '_ **everyone** _' knows?_

His grandmother's sharp rebuke started his mind working again. The maesters had always tried to be the dominant religious power and, more importantly, the single source of learned knowledge in all the Seven Kingdoms. That was indeed suspicious, because that also meant the order of learned men could control the culture and population with 'what everyone knows'. How much of their current society was shaped by 'what everyone knows' maesters? Septons? Septas?

From what he'd read, the religion of The Seven when the Andals had first migrated from Andalos to Westeros, was quite a bit simpler and more akin, in many ways, to the Old Gods the Northerners worshiped.

Less dogma and religious rules and more faith, belief, and humanity. He supposed that that was what separated those who were truly believers and those who were merely using the religion to attain power. And they acted differently as well. Those who were more in line with the teachings of the Seven as opposed to those who were dogmatic and power hungry.

 _But this…_

His mind raced as he watched magic, at his sister's hands, come to life right before his very eyes. If the current Faith ever found out about this, his sisters would be persecuted at best and executed at worse. She was still a small child in the eyes of everyone and thus some would take to the horrifying notion of beating the magic out of her. That could not be allowed.

 _But what does that say for me?_

His mind wondered back to the strange incident in his brother's tent where the water surprised him. He had tried to block it from his mind, but the incident so disturbed him that he was almost thankful for the intense schedule he now held as the de-facto heir of the Reach until Willas woke up.

He must have made a noise because Hermina jerked up and looked around before her eyes landed on him. They grew large and he could see trepidation in them.

But not fear.

A small portion of his mind approved. She was strong already and had the courage to face a situation most would run from.

And she was only five.

Taking his cue Garlan pushed off of the stone wall and quietly tiptoed his way to the bed. It would do them both no good if the servants or the maester walked in on them. That led to questions which led to answers which led to consequences. None of which he wanted to deal with. So, he suspended his own denial and disbelief and concentrated on the present, somewhat accepting it for what it was. He had time to question it later.

"Will it work?"

"I don't know." Her tiny shoulders shrugged and Garlan was taken aback by how much she didn't act like a child her age should have. It was not how either Loras or Margaery acted and none of the servants' children either, come to think of it. Or even the small folk when he went out into the lands surrounding Highgarden on some public relations work; building barns, granaries and the like.

"I think you've been hiding something from us." His reproach had her hunching in herself.

She was cut off from answering when Willas seemed to glow. First it was simply a general ambience, and then it grew. Swirls of pale bronze danced across his skin and grew in intensity around the places where his injuries lay. Up and down the back, as the sheets underneath the teen glowed like the sun, around his hip and leg and, they could see it crawl up their brother's neck and center on his head.

The markings intensified in brightness and pulsed. Garlan was fairly sure they were in time with the beat of his brother's heart because it was definitely beating in time with his own. The bronze light grew golden and stronger and brighter with each pulse.

 _Tha-thump-tha-thump-tha-thump-tha-thump-_

Both siblings simply stared, one young man close to fifteen and one small girl of five, the catalyst of it all. It was an amazing sight.

And then it stopped.

The markings cut off abruptly and disappeared in the same instant sending their small room plunging into darkness. Both children sat stock still and waited for something to happen.

And waited.

And waited.

The night crept slowly by. Garlan wasn't sure why, but he felt wired and alert. His eyes completely focused on his elder brother with senses heightened to an almost supernatural degree. He didn't see that the left-over water from the pitcher and the droplets left from Hermina's bowl quivered and rose, hovering in the air suspended like rain drops.

The hoot of a night owl startled them both and sent the water droplets speeding upwards and outwards splashing all three. It was enough to startle both Hermina and Garlan from their spots as both bolted to different sides of the room like wet cats escaping water.

"What was that?"

"It wasn't me!" Hermina exclaimed.

"Well it _wasn't me_."

"It _had_ to be you!"

"Keep your voice down!"

When Hermina spoke again, it was barley a whisper. Garlan supposed that was better than her yelling.

"You've not told me you could do that."

"It wasn't me," he practically snarled. Silence stretched between them and Garlan had the distinct impression that his sister was thinking and thinking hard. It felt…odd. When she did speak again it wasn't in anger, like he expected. Rather it was contemplative and so very out of place with his child of a sister.

"Has something like this ever happened before? Anything strange at all? Or unusual?" in the back of his mind Garlan again noted that his baby sister did not sound like a child in the slightest. Rather she sounded like an adult.

"It was a dream," Garlan began to protest, blurting out the event that had so disturbed him, and then stopped. He had just admitted to it. Seven Hells, that meant the water was his doing.

"It certainly didn't feel like a dream to me." Hermina retorted, again sounding strangely older than her five namedays would suggest.

A gasping intake of air stopped their bickering. As one both snapped their heads to the bed and watched as their brother took another large gasp of air, his chest rising and falling, before he abruptly sat up.

Even in the darkness of the room Garlan could make out the features of his brother. It was a strange thought he tucked away as sheer joy welled up in him. _Willas was awake, he was alright!_

"Who's there?" Their elder brother called out, apparently denied the same view his sibling had of him. Hermina was quick to answer. It was as bossy and stern a reprimand if ever Garlan heard one. Maybe she was still miffed at him?

"Be still Willas."

"Hermina?" Willas, himself, was still trying to work his mind through the cobwebs that made him sluggish and groggy.

"Not exactly welcoming, dearest sister?"

The elder teen recognized that amused tenor instantly. "Garlan?"

"The one and only." He grinned, unseen by his brother as it was practically pitch dark in the room, "wait a moment and I'll have us some proper light."

With that he darted towards the door, slipping through it, and was back a moment later with a borrowed torch from one of the hallway wall holders. The light had Willas flinching and blinking rapidly. Garlan moved to the hearth and began filling it to light a fire. Hermina and Willas watched on in silence.

It took him a moment before his wits returned. He was silent, taking in his surroundings. His last memory was of the horror that was his first tourney, the wrenching pain of his knee and hip, his back twisting in ways that it most definitely was no supposed to, and then nothing.

He took in his current room. A sick room if the sparse décor was anything to go by.

Both of his siblings had moved closer to his bed. Looking to his brother and sister, now with lighting, he could see they were in their usual clothing when they were home. Which mean that they relocated to Highgarden in hopes his recovery would be hastened by familiar surroundings.

"There." Garlan stood up wiping his hands, a merry fire began to flicker in the fireplace.

"Open the windows, it stinks in here." Garlan's lips twitched in amusement. It seemed little Mina inherited their grandmother's bluntness. Willas, poor man, looked utterly bewildered.

"What?"

Garlan couldn't blame him. He cast an amused glance at their youngest sister. "Mina, when did you become so demanding? Or am I just now noticing?" Hermina stuck her tongue out at Garlan while he crossed the room, reached up to unlatch the shutters before securing them on the inner hooks so the window stayed open. A fresh breeze swept and it never smelled sweeter to Willas. Or his siblings for that matter.

He was struck by the night sky and, as his groggy mind began working once more, recognizing the lateness of the hour. He was a fairly certain Garlan, and definitely Hermina, were both usually abed by this time. He usually checked on them after a late session with his father and grandmother over Reach matters, as was his duty as the eldest.

"Mina, can you grab me a fresh shirt for Willas."

"Where from?"

"Anywhere."

"That's not helpful."

"You're good at sneaking into places where you're not supposed to be." Garlan gave her a meaningful look and his sister huffed and then slipped out before he could formulate a response.

"Wha?" Garlan took that as his cue to inform his brother of all the comings and goings that happened since the tourney.

"The maesters forbid Hermina from visiting you or the past week," Ah, so it was a week he'd been unconscious, _wait, what?_

"What do you mean they forbid her?"

Garlan's expression soured. "I don't know what they said, but they somehow convinced father or mother or both that Hermina was the source of all diseases and thus should be barred from making you worse."

Willas couldn't help the snort of derision at the statement, if anything it was the maesters who would have worsened his condition, "Grandmother of course, put her opinion of the matter forward and father ignored her. I caught her sneaking in here tonight and decided to see what mischief she was getting up to."

His voice was scratchy and dry from disuse. "Hermina would not harm me."

"No, she wouldn't," his younger brother readily agreed. "She did something even better." He paused for dramatic effect earning a look from his invalid brother, "she healed you."

Disbelief warred with astonishment as Willas both questioned and denied in the same breath. It had to be a joke or a metaphor. Poorly done! "What? _How?!_ "

Garlan grinned like a cat that caught a mouse, not saying a single thing rather pouring what was left of the pitcher into a smallish bowl and handing it to his brother. He waited until Willas was taking a sip of his water before saying, "Magic."

Willas sputtered. Their following time was spent filled with Willas' hacking cough and Garlan's jackal like smile.

* * *

A smile graced the Highgarden Heir's features at the memory. His brother had regaled him with a rather fantastic tale of his own miraculous healing and recovery before there sister returned with clean-ish tunic and some fresh rags. Garlan had graciously and patiently helped clean him up a bit while he visited with his sister. Of course, he never got to broach the subject of magic or his healing as Garlan claimed because Hermina yawned and Garlan cut their visit short.

Magic. That was a fairy tale if ever he heard one. The arcane were usually a part of the songs that Margaery and Loras were so fond of.

Of course, the Septons and maesters were willing to call it something else, but Garlan assured him that what he was telling his brother with the complete truth of the events. And he had no reason to doubt him. In fact, he took Garlan's word over the maester's any day, at least he was truthful. Though presonally he was still undecided, hesitant to believe really, these two years later.

The Heir still had to make up his mind on the matter having not seen even a hint of such miraculous ability from their sister and was more inclined to think of it as a one time event such as when the tales and songs highlighted. The tweeting of a nearby bird interrupted his reflection and forced the heir back to his dry documents and work.

Memories could only keep the dismal work at bay for so long. The young man of eight and ten glared down at the parchment in his hands willing it to have changed within the last several minutes that he had been caught up in memories.

The words scrawled across the paper, no matter how prettily placed, all boiled down to one simple fact: Loras was to be sent to foster with the Baratheons. Plans were in place for him to squire for Lord Renly when the time came and he was of age.

Willas couldn't help the frown that stormed across his features. He did not like the Storm's End lordling. Not one iota. Personal objections aside, the young man was lazy and too fond of creature comforts. The sum of the youngest Baratheon's talents lay in attending tourneys but never competing in them, feasting, and personal grooming. That was not someone he wanted his brother exposed to.

His youngest brother was too young to remember Robert's Rebellion at the time, being three, but the same could not be said for Willas and Garlan. They might not have seen actual fighting on the front-lines, but both remembered well everything else that happened around them. The increased raids of the bandits and Iron Born. They remembered seeing the people of The Reach begging because the surplus of food and supplies was redirected to the front. They remembered the encroaching fear of the Lannister Army that was gathering forces on their border, and the minor raids they conducted. Above all though, both remember the sheer helplessness they felt because of it all.

The little lordling might have been present at Storm's End during the siege, but he also would have been too young to remember much if anything. If Willas remembered correctly, Renly Baratheon had only been six or seven at the time. And was only fourteen or fifteen at present. Not old enough for Willas to feel comfortable with entrusting the next seven years or so of education and training for his youngest brother. The teen was certainly not wise or experienced enough and openly disdained book learning.

' _Leave the books for the Maesters.'_

A Tyrell needed to be challenged in their wits and in their martial abilities. If their wits were reduced to only supplementing their martial abilities then they would, in turn, become a weak point for the family. An Achilles Heel where there needn't have been one. The Tyrells had enough enemies that they needn't offer up an opening like a gifted lamb to be slaughtered.

The boy hardly spent any time with himself or Garlan, and he had nothing to do with Hermina. If he was sent away now, he would be a stranger to them. Worse still, his loyalties would be weakened and another flank they would have to guard against. Willas reflected, he supposed Loras' one saving grace was that he had a strong relationship with Margaery and was rather attached to their parents.

He also supposed he would simply have to wait and see how his youngest brother turned out. Though not without much trepidation.

Squires and Lordlings took after their masters in one form or another. It was how the process worked and also because of long years of training and exposure. Which was another reason on top of everything else as to why he objected to the choice of Loras' fostering. Better the boy was sent to the stern, dutiful disciplinarian in Stannis than the coddled child that was Renly. At least Stannis was an experienced and able military commander. And, Willas thought darkly, if Renly turned his brother into a panting lapdog, then so help him he would personally end the late Steffon Baratheon's youngest.

However, in the end he had no say. His father overruled him. Again.

This had become a constant occurrence ever since he started assuming greater responsibility in The Reach and he was more than a little irritated with the entire situation. In fact, he was chafing something awful from it.

Willas supposed he was grateful that he at least won Garlan's fostering away from his father's control. It seemed that when faced with resolved force, Mace Tyrell crumbled. And Willas' resolve at eleven must have been impressive for him to defy even his adult father, let alone thousands of years of tradition. It won him their grandmother's approval and a modicum of respect.

To be fair though, he did place his brother's training under one of the best knights the Reach had to offer and Garlan was indeed growing into his childhood title of Garlan the Gallant. Mostly.

Arguing outside of his window had him looking up from Reach matters and outside on the beautifully sunny day. Raised voices he easily identified as his youngest sister and younger brother. Unfortunately the arguments were growing more and more common the older Hermina got. It didn't help one iota that Garlan was egging them on.

If any of their enemies ever saw the young squire with their seven nameday old sister, the words about his younger brother's gallantry would be very different. Because he was in an argument with their youngest sister.

Again.

That said, the results of their confrontation were always interesting and highly entertaining. At least before the adults brought down the wrath of the Seven on their heads. However, that didn't seem to deter the rascally duo from their antics. Though he did wonder what set them off this day. He sighed and got up.

 _Better see what this is all about, before it escalates._

A knock at the study door revealed another currier with hands full of missives. Willas plopped right back down in a somewhat dignified manner, and silently groaned as he accepted them and attacked the latest stack with a vengeance. His siblings would have to wait.

* * *

"Is that it?" Garlan taunted, batting away her latest attempt, "I guess your inability to learn the sword is because you're a _girl_ , and here I had high hopes for you too. It's okay," he cooed with false sympathy, "you can go enjoy embroidery. Mother would _love_ that! You'd finally be a real lady."

"I _**am**_ a girl, you nitwit!" Hermina cried at her brother, incensed by his words, "and anything you can do, _I can do better!_ "

Garlan, of course took this as a challenge. "I highly doubt that, _little girl_."

With a mighty war cry the youngest Tyrell attacked him with the branch she had been brandishing as a sword and became a whirlwind of brown curls and girlish fury. During the assault there were small moments Garlan though his eyes deceived him as the branch bent in certain ways and sometimes snaked around his own sparring limb. Not that it made a difference.

He expertly parried her attacks with both experience and years of practice and thumped the holes in her defenses, ensuring she would have lesson bruises to remember them by. This belied the fact that his sister was actually more skilled than most squires and knights-in-training twice her age, technically that was. She had the majority of the mechanics memorized which was impressive in an of itself. However, she still lacked the improvisation and creativity in swordsmanship that came with experience and age.

 _And survival._

Even if it's simply sticks for now, his sister was indeed a quick study and Garlan found he had to push himself twice as hard in his daily training just to make sure his youngest sister did not surpass him. It would be a humiliation even he couldn't live down.

And the best part was that neither of their parents were any wiser for it. As Hermina was a hopeless case when it came to making the girl stay and pursue traditional education of any kind (that she wasn't interested in), she had far too much energy for that and was far too wily to be caught so easily, she was let mostly alone. Which meant her elder brothers had free-reign with her education as they were the ones to find her most of the time.

It was a benefit they gleefully took advantage of and taught her whatever they deemed necessary and important to survive. Well, he did. Willas was mostly holed up in the study with Reach matters as their Lord Father dumped a majority of the work onto his eldest and spent his time on leisure activities.

 _-Thwack-_

Garlan jumped from the sting of the hit. He looked at his sister in surprise as she looked at him with pure triumph. His eyes narrowed. Oh no, that won't do. _Not at all._ He lunged.

* * *

Willas was left to watch from his window in disbelief, having become distracted once more by the knocking of wooden branches and shouts of frustration, as competition arose between is baby sister and his knucklehead of a brother. He got up, reaching for his cane. He truly didn't depend upon it as much as most thought, however as his grandmother disguised herself with frailness, he disguised himself with a played-up injury from his tourney.

It fooled his Lord-Father and Lady-Mother which was all he needed.

Garlan and Hermina were the only two who knew that he was mostly as mobile as he was prior to his injury. Garlan because he trained with him (and browbeat the secret out of him) and Hermina, well, he really wasn't sure how his youngest sister figured it out, but she had. And in all honestly, he'd have been surprised if a girl as intelligent as his baby sister didn't notice such things. She was extremely perceptive. That said, he did have limitations and tired much more easily and if he pushed too hard, his leg would be cramped and throbbing for the several following days.

The bright side was that he could train with Garlan and Hermina as much as he wanted without the added pressure of competition. He was no longer required to show in those tourneys because of his injuries. The rumor mills and the very public forum of his accident worked in his favor and he was never one to look such a gift horse in the mouth. Never mind that he found them severely distasteful and of little use.

That left the Heir with the only option of honing his skills on his brother and the nearby ruffians and bandits on the Rose Road. More often than not, most of his memorable instances were at the hands of sell swords and hedge knights. The former almost always being out of work and a dishonorable lot, and the latter fallen on hard times and lord-less, and both were quite mercenary and very desperate. They almost always traveled in groups.

One of his scars twinged in remembered pain at an arrogant mistake. A good lesson, but not one he repeated.

 _Underestimate no one or it'll cost you._

Another cry reminded him that he was needed elsewhere, or rather where he wanted to be. Willas hobbled out the study and towards the practice yard. He would forever deny that he was simply eager to leave the work behind. And if his hobbled steps were a bit quicker than they normally would have been, well, who could blame him?

* * *

The two combatants rested nearby having quit their 'argument' for the day in favor of snacking on their pilfered, ill-gotten gains from the kitchen. All in all, Garlan was pleased with how their little schedule was turning out. His sister would be able to defend herself, and he was gifted with a talented student as well as verbal sparring partner. Their arguments were as hilarious as they were enlightening.

It was an ingenious ruse really. Hermina or himself would start an argument, one or the other would end up chasing the instigator, and they would 'fight'.

It had all started not long after Willas had awoken from his coma. Garlan had made something of a smart remark that dually insulted Hermina's intelligence and the fact she was a girl. Well, _he_ hadn't thought anything of it, however _she_ was highly insulted, took great offense to his comments, and from that point forward was intent on showing him the error of his ways. The rest was history.

Garlan polished of his apple core and tossed into the nearby bushes. The pit landed with a bounce on the rich soil, rolled a few inches where it stopped. A small shoot sprouted from it and a sapling shot up from the core. The servants would later wonder how an apple tree had sprouted there when the orchards were on the _other side_ of the fortress castle.

Hermina was munching on a roll stuffed with meats and greens in something she called a 'sandwich'. He rather thought it looked like a tastier version of a trencher, but kept his remarks to himself. Experience taught him that if he did say something, he would receive a long-winded lecture instead. So he, _wisely_ , chose another topic of conversation. Hermina wasn't the only quick study in the family after all.

"Mina, you should head into lessons now."

"I don't want to."

Garlan was not surprised at the vehemence in her retort. The Septa who was in charge of the girls' education when neither of the Ladies of the Household could attend was utterly abhorrent. He had the misfortune of encountering her once, that was enough. If he had to try and learn from such a woman, he would skip too. Still, it was his brotherly duty to at least put up a token argument, for appearance's sake of course.

"What?" he gasped dramatically, "Mina forgoing learning?! It cannot be so!" He reached a hand as if to feel her forehead for fever. Hermina pushed it away with a glare.

"I already know what Septa sourface is teaching. I read it _all_ in the library." Her frown became more pronounced and just a hint scornful, "Besides she's not teaching _anything_ new, just repeating the same lessons over, and over, and over again while heaping praise on Margaery all the time."

 _Ah yes, the almighty written text._ He should not have forgotten that fact considering his sister was a voracious reader. Though he was no slouch himself in the academic department, Garlan had little luxury time to spend in the library mainly due to his training schedule and various other obligations, unlike the small girl he was sharing luncheon with. At this point, Garlan was fairly sure that the only one who more book learned than Mina was Willas and that was because their brother was just as studious as their sibling and had the advantage of years of learning.

"In fact, sometimes what she teaches is wrong. I try to tell her so and she punishes me for 'talking back' to her. She even says the books I read don't exist!" Hermina crossed her arms with an air of indignation, "She's not a qualified teacher nor does she have academic credentials to stand on, so it stands to reason that I am not required to attend when I've nothing to learn."

The girl was forever displeased with the quality of her learning, even though Garlan was certain she received the best education their kingdom had to offer, for women anyways. His grandmother and parents would expect nothing less. However, that knowledge did not solve the mystery as to _why_ his baby sister seemed to think she was being cheated with her learning. It was especially apparent in small moments like this where she ranted about her teachers and their lack of acclaim and academic verification.

Sometimes he wondered at these notions of academics, credentials, and certifications that Mina spoke of when it came to education. She made them seem vitally important and yet he knew of no such institutions like those she described. The closest one was in Oldtown with the Maester school at the citadel. Garlan was more than certain that Hermina would have excelled in such an environment had she been a boy.

However, the order of learned men barred any woman from entering on the grounds that women were inherently less intelligent and could not understand the deepest mysteries nor contribute to their collective knowledge. Willas and Garlan both were in agreement that this line of thought was a load of tripe.

Being the grandchildren of Olenna Tyrell, who made a sport of showing ignorant people the error of their ways, provided the Tyrell children with a more enlightened understanding of genders and their lopsided society in general. Unfortunately understanding did not bring enlightenment or change of thousands of years of societal practices.

Whereas Margaery found empowerment and excelled in her lessons from their grandmother, it was the oft contested, highly restrictive, and ignorant (according to Mina) education of the Septas, and their own Lady Mother, which Hermina had found degradation and lack of knowledge or utility. Their youngest sister put up a small show to keep the elder ladies if not happy then at least appeased with her attendance, barely.

It also helped that both he and Willas insisted she at least learn what was expected, her roles, and the restrictions, _'the rules'_ Willas had phrased it, so that when she grew in stature and power, she would know where the lines were and either manipulate them (she hadn't like that suggestion all that much) or change them (which she did like a lot).

Garlan wasn't sure if she alone could change their society, but he recognized that wily, scheming look on Willas when he saw it. Lady Olenna wore it often enough, and it somewhat scared him to think his brother was planning something.

"If you know so much little sister, maybe you should write it all down and make your own library." Garlan joked, having decided levity was needed to derail the oncoming rant he could almost feel. Hermina tipped her chin defiantly.

"Maybe I shall." _It worked!_ The lecture was successfully derailed! Then he got a good look at his sister, who apparently took his joke as a challenge. _The Stranger take him!_

Garlan stilled then paled as he was suddenly besieged with visions of a parchment shortage in all The Reach. One was of Hermina being buried under a mountain of parchment that fell on her with only a single, ink splattered hand poking out of the avalanche to signal her untimely demise. Another featured a shrunken troll-like Hermina with spectacles (a contraption for sight that she had described once) that made her eyes look owlish, a face lined with wrinkles and lips all puckered with age, cackling over a desk as she scribbled away with a quill by candlelight. There were monstrous stacks of paper looming over her on either side.

The sad part was that he could literally see _all_ of that happening. Hopefully the family coffers would have something in them after she was done, because parchment was expensive to make and get a hold of. He really needed to think about the consequences of off the cuff remarks to his youngest and most brilliant sister. Luckily He was saved from trying to wrangle Hermina's enthusiasm when their eldest brother's voice sliced through their discussion, effectively ending it.

"Hermina, remember you have to be present when Mother and Father return from their trip." And there was Willas pretending to be grievously injured from his tourney accident in all his glory. Though he seemed rather annoyed for some reason. Garlan had a rather good idea as to why.

"Very well."

Garlan hailed his brother inviting him to their picnic. "Willas, come join us."

There was no use denying their eldest brother some of their snacks if he had gone through all that trouble even make an appearance. They were probably too loud again and honestly the man got out little enough as it was, he needed the fresh air and sunlight just as well as any of them. Said eldest brother simply shook his head, his exasperation giving way to his normal good-natured amusement.

"Not now," he then fixed them both with a stern look, "you both were too noisy again, I came to make sure you hadn't killed one another."

Hermina sheepishly ducked her head as if she had just broke some rule of propriety. Garlan almost snorted as he shooed the thought away. Hermina was consistently a rule-breaker when it came to gender roles and societal expectations. It was just that he and Willas took the time to channel her energies in a productive direction rather than suppress her spirit. And to be fair she was a child as well.

Garlan simply waved his elder brother off. His attention taken off of their littlest sister and squarely placed on him. Which allowed the Highgarden heir a perfect view of the mischief Hermina was devising.

Willas eyed her fist. It was full of dirt and he had no doubt she was planning something. That was his cue.

"I'll leave you to your…fun." Willas slunk away before he could get caught in the crossfire.

"But you just arri- _HEY!_ "

* * *

The entirety of the Tyrell household was arrayed to welcome their Lord and Lady back from their tour of The Reach. It was an excellent diplomatic ploy with a two-fold purpose. The first being to check upon the economy of the kingdom itself, to see where the problems were and where they could potentially be. The second purpose was to reaffirm the lords of the land to in their loyalties to the reigning Lord Paramount and his house.

Lord Mace Tyrell and Lady Alerie were many things, but incompetent masters of their kingdom was not one of them. Neither were particularly good at or had a head for the political games of the high lords and aristocracy of which the Dowager Lady of The Reach had made no issue of her opinion on the matter, but that did not make them amateurish or unskilled. Rather they were simply traditional in their understanding and execution. Dull, stable, and very predictable.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said about the events happening in Highgarden. Especially when a mischievous child was involved.

The Gremlin and The Heir stared each other down. Said man deigned to only raise a brow. Said imp merely dripped mud on the cobbled stones of the courtyard.

Willas gave the silt splattered little girl a long, chagrined look unable to formulate words and very much caught between ranting at Hermina or snickering. Her sheepish grin belied her eyes which were shining brightly under the dirt and he almost didn't have the heart to scold her too sternly. _Almost._

"I was hoping to present a young lady to Father and Mother." It was said with and air of forbearance, driving home his disappointment. Hermina flushed a bit at the rebuke, pleased that his point was understood Willas allowed his amusement to bleed through taking a bit of the sting off, "but I guess you'll have to do."

She huffed and then grinned impishly. Both ignored the virulent glares from one particularly sour looking, old septa who was stationed with the other learned holy men and women though Willas filed that tidbit away. He'd inquire after her later.

Their small standoff drew the attention of the rest of household. Lady Olenna merely snorted at the sight of her youngest grandchild and Margaery was both horrified and amused. Their little Princess-To-Be would never be caught so. Loras was fussing with his clothes and not paying them any attention.

"Did you win."

"Of course," Hermina huffed with injured pride, "Garlan got the worst of it."

A noise to their side caused Willas to look and promptly smother the laughter that threatened to burst out from him. He shouldn't be encouraging this behavior, really. However, as he looked at the mud creature that was his younger brother, his younger sixteen nameday old brother, he was hard pressed to follow through on that resolve.

Garlan, for his part, was one giant blob of mud and the only clearly identifiable feature were his comically glaring eyes. Of course, he tried to salvage his pride, whatever there was left of it, by shuffling closer to them so the rest of the courtyard would not overhear them.

"She's almost as good as you at mudslinging," Hermina simply stuck her tongue out in reply to the implied rebuke.

Willas caught the separate meanings, several in fact. He gave his brother a long measuring look communicating their meeting later to discuss his comment.

Excusing himself, Garlan scooted off to get cleaned up and changed. It was one thing for his seven nameday old sister to be grossly filthy, it was quite another if he was caught by their parents.

Willas almost sent his sister off to get cleaned up as well, save for the fact experience had taught him that it was better to keep her in sight. Otherwise it was off on a merry chase once more to find the rascal. He looked down at his sister and asked curious as a thought occurred to him.

"Where did you get the mud from?"

"I made it," she replied simply.

Willas frowned ever so slightly, they didn't have mud that watery in Highgarden. Most of the soil in and around Highgarden was clay-like in consistency. It was also high summer and the lands were much drier.

He had no extra time to ponder what she meant as the vanguard of their parents' procession trotted into the courtyard. The picture they presented was both magnificent and colorful. Easily projecting the power and wealth of the Tyrell household.

Willas doubted even the Lannisters could afford to be arrayed so. The small abstraction gave him a distinct thread of pleasure.

The heir of the Tyrell family watched as his father dismounted and handed down their Lady Mother from what Hermina termed as a 'carriage'. Both he and Garlan had long since given up in correcting her names of things like the wheel-house. Sometimes it just wasn't worth the argument that followed.

They all looked on as the lord and Lady greeted their household and swept into the keep, both obviously thrilled to be home. Perhaps it was fortune on their side as their parents' quick departure didn't allow them time to notice Hermina's less than pristine appearance. Of course it helped that she was somewhat hiding herself behind his legs.

"Made it." His brother popped up beside him, rather freshly scrubbed and appropriately attired. Willas raised a brow at him.

"How did you get ready so quickly? "

"Magic," Garlan quipped, he even wiggled his fingers in Willas' eyes.

"Well your magic wasn't quick enough, they're already gone."

"What? You're japing."

"Apparently both father and mother were tired of the road and wished to be settled in right away," Willas apprised him. "Now you can get ready for the welcoming feast being held in their honor." He informed Garlan quite cheerfully.

He received a glower in exchange.

"Garlan, come here, I would have a word or two for you." Before the young squire could do anything more their grandmother required his younger brother's attention, to which he promptly answered. It was a rather fine sight to see the Queen of Thorns leading a small procession of her own with both of her middle grandchildren obediently trailing her, followed by a large gaggle of handmaidens in her train.

Their youngest sister made to follow and found herself held in place instead. Willas pulled her aside and waited until the courtyard was cleared before addressing something on his mind.

"Hermina, who is that Septa?"

"Which one?"

He pointed towards the rather ill-tempered looking woman who was sending his sister one last glare before disappearing into the bowels of the keep, "that one." Hermina became somewhat quiet and after several moments he thought she wouldn't answer him.

"Why do you want to know?"

"She was glaring at you and I would know why." He told her sternly.

"She, oh I forget her name it was so complicated anyway, that I called her Sourface or Lemonlips."

"Hermina."

"It's true, and I really did forget her name, truly."

"Hermina."

"And I already _know_ **all** the lessons. Margaery told me so."

"I highly doubt that you know _everything_." Willas' allowed his skepticism to bleed into his words.

"I _do_ know _her_ lessons though and Septa Lemonlips just tests me on the same old materials over, and over, and over again. I get all her questions right and then she started testing me on things that weren't in the library. Margaery told her to stop being mean and she lectured her!"

 _A Septa was intimidated by a girl of seven?_ Perhaps, what he did understand from her rant though was that she wasn't challenged enough.

Willas eased himself onto a nearby bench, his leg was beginning to ache. "Tell you what, little sister," She scowled at the nickname, "I'll arrange with father to provide you with a more learned teacher," Hermina was beginning to smile widely, her eyes lighting up, " _if_ you attend lessons in the meantime until such a teacher arrives." Her look of elation quickly dampened.

"Your education in the lady-like arts is _important_. How will you know what is expected of a lady of your station? You are born to privilege, don't waste your opportunities because of an _obstacle_ or your own stubbornness."

Hermina looked rather sulky, "I'm not even getting an adequate education, schooling is not fun."

"No, it isn't but **learning** _is_ , wouldn't you say." He reasoned, "do we have a deal?"

Hermina looked torn between her dislike of the septa and the carrot her brother was dangling in front of her, "Oh, alright. Deal." She brazenly stuck her hand out. They both shook on it, sealing their agreement.

"Good." He regained his feet, having stood slowly from the bench, and leaned on his walking stick, "now, you have a feast to get ready for."

Willas watched her go. It seemed most days he was more a father than a brother to his sister. He supposed it came with being eleven years her senior, however that did not mean it wasn't tiring to constantly be battling with her willfulness. And for that he envied Garlan his role as the second son rather than the heir. However, at least there was one saving grace to having such an intelligent girl, it was that her understanding was exceedingly mature and he could reason with her.

He then vacated the area himself. Lord Mace Tyrell always retired to his solar for a time after returning to the keep. Mainly it was to look over Reach matters before refreshing, his predictable habit would work in Willas' favour. No doubt his father would be fatigued and tired from his trip, however he had never denied Willas at least the courtesy of an interview.

And that was what he was counting on.

* * *

The long halls of Highgarden were somewhat challenging to its semi-crippled occupant as it took longer than most great castles to leave one location to arrive at another. The expanse of the massive keep made many a shortcut take some time even as the distance was seemingly shortened. Willas hobbled at a sedate pace towards his father's solar, mind a whirl with his planned persuasive arguments for the acquisition of another learned person from the maester order.

His musing were cut short as he closed the distance to his destination. The heir was unexpectedly greeted with terse voices.

Frowning, he knocked. Waited a beat. Then entered without permission.

His father was standing behind his grand oak desk while his visitor stood erectly with chin tilted just so and habit arranged meticulously. The rather self-important, sour-faced septa with pinched lips was his first clue that he had been beaten to his father. It was the same woman he'd pointed out in the yard. Hermina's nickname was spot on, though he supposed he couldn't exactly call her that.

Unfortunately, he had forgotten her name too. He eyed her before turning to his father.

Willas watched as Lord-Father swelled up like a puff fish and began blustering, _about what?_ He hadn't a clue, yet. He would have waited it out if he hadn't noticed the distinct air of satisfaction coming from the supposed learned holy woman. _Nope_. She would have to go. Grandmama and even their Lady-Mother were more suited to teaching his sister than this petty, vindictive, old biddy. Besides if she got angelic Margeary to yell at her, and their princess _never_ yelled, then she was definitely rotten.

When his father stopped his tirade to breath, Willas took the opening. "Thank you Septa, your services are no longer required or needed."

The woman goggled at his dismissal and looked highly insulted at being asked to leave. But before she could argue, he turned to address his lord father and felt the distinct satisfaction of hearing her stomp out indignantly. He absently wondered if she understood the twin meanings of his words. Most likely not.

"What did that woman want?"

"Your sister." Willas felt the pit his stomach sink. _Damn that woman to the Seven Hells!_ She had just made his job harder.

"She's too smart, too knowledgeable." The proud lord raged, "that sister of yours is now more of a liability than a boon to House Tyrell."

"How so?" So far, he'd heard nothing specific that his sister had done wrong. Unfortunately, who knew _what_ the woman told his father. Lies, slander, or very skewed facts if he were a betting man.

"No one wants a smart wife," Lord Mace blustered. Willas opted to patiently wait his father out and held his tongue from making an Olenna-like remark. Sometimes it was better to let him blow out some steam before they could have a reasonable conversation. It also allowed him time to both understand the situation, get the facts and form his own counter arguments.

An impulsive idea formed, germinated, and grew when something his father said inspired Willas, all the while the Lord Paramount of The Reach ranted and raved at the ill-report he'd received. The eldest Tyrell child landed on an idea and instantly tailored it to suit both his goals and appease his father. It had _potential_.

He cut in when the Lord Paramount paused to take a breath, "then I will make sure she is no longer a burden to you."

That stopped Mace in his metaphorical tracks. Granted he was tired and fatigued from his long trip, and he hadn't much time to himself or to rest before he was visited by that unpleasant woman. But what she reported to him, rather than his mother or Lady Wife, ignited his temper.

They had a wildling of a child who would no doubt bring shame and suffering on them as Lyanna Stark did to her family, to the entire realm, because she couldn't have just married that Baratheon Lordling like she was supposed to. She broke the alliance that the North was making with the Stormlands and threw the Realm into turmoil, costing lives, their crown prince, and valuable resources because of her selfish actions. For someone like that to be born into the Tyrell household, it was disastrous. That could not be allowed, they as a family could not afford it.

He could not risk fostering his youngest away from them, not without her wildness and willful mannerism being exposed. It was another headache for Lord Tyrell, especially when this report denied him another means of political alliance and family security. And this on top of rising tensions between themselves and the Florents.

Their distant cousins were petitioning, again, to be named the Lords Paramount of the Reach because they claimed to be the rightful heirs to the Gardener Kings. Being that they were descended from the male line as opposed to the female lineage, which is the tenuous connection Tyrells have. And as the current High Lords of The Reach were the youngest but one of the great families of Westeros, and with the patriarchal-primogeniture system still well in place, their position was further weakened.

This open challenge to their power was dangerous and they most certainly did not need any exposed weaknesses. Especially now that Lord Stannis Baratheon had wed Lady Selyse Florent, which in turn gave their distant cousins the support of one of the most determined and successful battle commanders still living. A powerful ally with even more powerful connections.

As King Robert Baratheon who sat the Iron Throne and was wed to Cersei Lannister. The daughter of the treacherous Lord Paramount of the West. This ringed them in and placed the Tyrells in a precarious position.

Especially with Robert sitting the throne. The vindictive and petty Usurper he was also had a selective long memory which allowed him to hold them in contempt. He remembered the Tyrells opposing him during his rebellion when they supported their vows of allegiance and fealty to the Targaryen Royal family.

And as it was just the combined might of The Reach and the Crownlands that nearly toppled the hastily formed allied armies of The Vale, The North, and the Stormlands, they made no allies when all was said and done. Very many egos were bruised when many a lord fell to the Reachmen or were dealt a resounding loss, repeatedly.

With the Westerlands feuding with the crown, the Riverlands declaring neutrality, and Dorne isolated and sparsely populated, the victory should have been theirs. But that was a reflection for a good vintage from his private stock and the hearth later.

The High Lord looked at his eldest, his pride and joy despite his injury. His heir was a Lord in the making and very much worthy of respect. His advice was usually sound and well thought out, so when the young man spoke his father at least listened. And the boy did have his attention. He knew that tone, it was one his own mother used on him quite often. While he could not fathom what went on in their minds, he had not been advised incorrectly, yet. And if the situation escalated with the Florents and their allies, then he would need both his mother and his son's advice.

"What is it you want?"

"My Lord," Willas' demeanor was solemn and appropriately deferential, "I would ask that you consider placing Hermina's guardianship responsibilities in my hands, all of them."

Astounded the Lord simply asked, "do you know what such a request would entail?"

"I would have completed authority over her marriage arrangement, her education shall be my duty, and anything related to her, shall be my obligation."

Mace mulled the idea over, "this is most unusual."

"Yes," he agreed, "however My Lord would no longer be burdened with such inanities and _un-pleasantries_ as you had endured not long before I arrived. Any complaint or misbehavior shall be answerable to me."

"What of your grandmother, my mother? Surely she would make a woman out of your sister?"

His heir, it seemed, had a ready answer for him as well, "I would entrust the lady-like aspects of her care to both Grandmama and my Lady Mother, however they need not be burdened with all of the trivial matters pertaining to Hermina's life."

The more he thought about it, the more he favored the notion. Lord Mace could see no downside to their arrangement save that he would have one less bargaining tool to make an alliance if he need one. However, he also trusted his eldest with his decisions. He knew his heir spent time with his youngest and he also knew his heir would ensure the best for House Tyrell. The boy knew his duty far better than even he did.

He had an excellent and proven example in Garlan. His second son had flourished under Willas' care and all reports indicated that he was a fine addition to the Tyrell Legacy. One that would elevate their name when the time came.

Those two ideas combined settled the matter in his min that his youngest would be well cared for and well situated in an advantageous position for their family with Willas guiding her. It was not a traditional arrangement in the slightest, going against _thousands_ of years of established cultural customs descended from the Andal Invasion. However, in a rare moment of inspired wisdom and perhaps to prevent another Lyanna Stark, he considered that his youngest would need something different and maybe this solution was it. And she would still be surrounded by family and impressed with loyalty to the Tyrell name above all others.

Either way it would allow him to concentrate on more important matters, like keeping the balance of power of The Reach firmly in the Tyrell hands and away from the Florents. It was a delicate matter which he hoped did not lead to civil war.

One wrong word here or a rumor hinting scandal there would tip the balance. And he also had to confer with his mother on the entanglements of the nebulous loyalties and ties of the aristocracy. Planning and preparing were a Tyrell's strength.

Having cemented his decision Mace straightened and looked Willas squarely in the eyes, approving of how his heir firmly met and held his gaze, "do with her what you will. So long as she does not shame the Tyrells of Highgarden." When he received a nod, the Lord Paramount dismissed his heir. "I wash my hands of her."

Taking his cue and beyond relieved that his plan worked, Willas hobbled out of the solar closing the door behind him, intent on getting ready for the welcoming feast and planning to toast his own victory. That was until he noticed something out of the corner of his eyes.

He turned his head and met the tear filled, pained cinnamon and honey eyes of his baby sister. From her look, she clearly heard everything. Mentally sighing, he herded her out to the garden promenade where they could talk privately.

This would be one uncomfortable discussion.

* * *

As she trailed behind her eldest brother his walking stick clicking on the stone floors, Hermione's mind fell into a roving mass of emotions and turmoil. Her father had rejected her. Tossed her aside. _Why?_ She didn't understand at all.

Hermione Granger of that life was young woman of seventeen from a post suffragette world who grew up with all the benefits of a middling class family, was an only child and a smart girl who was lavished with parental love, affection, and equally cherished by both parents. She had been especially close with her father, being a classic daddy's girl. She was used to being ostracized by children, and then targeted ignorant magicals, but never had she once been rejected by her parents.

As a seventeen year old witch who had reached her majority during the last year of her previous life, she was very much used to the freedoms and advancements of _that_ society, of _that_ world. Which in her educated opinion was light years ahead of Westeros and this particular world in general which seemed permanently frozen in the High Middle Ages period.

But now? Now as Hermina Tyrell, in _this_ body, she was seven. And as a seven year old girl in a patriarchal, medieval society she was nothing and had nothing.

 _Less than nothing now._ Her mind dolefully reminded her. She didn't even have her father's love.

"Do you know why I petitioned father for your guardianship?" the question startled Hermione from her musings and returned her to the present. She shook her head unable to form words right then.

It was then she noticed her surroundings and realized that her steps now crunched along graveled paths rather than the hard stone floors of the inner halls. Her elder brother walked with her into one of the many small side palisades that doubled as Highgarden fortifications as well as hedges. The particular path Willas had led her on was closer to the main keep and the inner courtyards of where the main family lived.

A great arbor that spanned the walk, which she knew wound down eventually to the Riverwalk of the Mander. Their path was ensconced with rose covered trellises giving them the privacy and quietude that only nature could achieve. Hermione did not notice the many plants and flora bend towards her in waves as though moved by an invisible breeze.

Highgarden awoke many a strange mishmash of imaginative images of how she pictured the fortress of Minas Tirith in The Lord of the Rings with its many tiers and projected implacable might and the added romantic beauty and gilded elegance of Versaille.

On the rare days she allowed her memories to overlap with her present circumstances she could see hints of the famous and most beautiful of the castles, palaces and keeps she had visited with her parents as they trekked across France. From one angle Highgarden evoked images of the Château d'Angers, another would hint at the Chateau de Saumur, or a look in the setting sun would conjure the Palais des Papes.

Mostly the majestic keep of The Reach appealed to memories of her personal favorite: Le Palais de justice de Poitiers. Known evocatively as The Hall of Lost Footsteps. The seat of Eleanor of Aquitaine, the most powerful woman to have survived the middle ages.

Willas' soothing presence calmed down her mind which was racing around like a frightened rabbit. At least she had her elder brothers, Margaery when she got to see her, and distantly their grandmother.

"Come now, Mina," he chided using the nickname Garlan often called her and successfully distracting her away from her downward spiraling thoughts. She was distraught at her father's rejection, but her terror of disappointing her two brothers by far overshadowed that distress and spurred her to a half-hearted attempt.

"For protection?"

Reading her like an open book, her elder brother merely smiled. "And?"

It was then her mind finally grasped the proffered hint as was off like a thoroughbred at the Newmarket Racecourse. Suddenly all of her possible suppositions, what she knew of Westerosi culture, and finally the full impact of what her brother had successfully done all clashed together magnificently with her sheer disbelief. What Willas had done simply didn't fit with Westeros, at all.

Her eldest brother had been watching her like a hawk and wore an extremely pleased expression. Pleased and full of approval.

"Bu-But that's going against tradition." She then gave him a rather severe look, stopping mid path with her small hands fisted on her hips, "you're breaking _all_ the rules."

"I think that a thousand years of societal stagnation has a rather foul stench, don't you?" He quipped mimicking her prim tone, then murmured, "quite long enough indeed."

Hermione's eyes narrowed to slits ensuring he felt the full weight of her intelligence, suspicion leaking into the brilliant cinnamon orbs, "what are you planning?"

"Many, many things dear sister." He said enigmatically, "but your protection is indeed one of them."

He then hobbled own the path forcing Hermione to start walking again and follow him. They hadn't finished their conversation after all. And her brother knew how to trail just enough challenge and intellectual bait along to entice her, the bugger.

Willas didn't stop until they came to rather quaint gazebo, elegant and covered with honeysuckle vines. He promptly sat on one of the benches and looked every inch the stern Highgarden Heir. Hermione decided to stand in front of him, too anxious to take a seat.

"Now, why were you outside of Father's solar?"

"The septa told me I was…expected." Hermione paused slightly, withholding the details of the unpleasant encounter. There were many things about the abusive learned woman that he didn't need to know. Luckily, she had only been verbally repressive as Hermione doubted she would tolerate more than spoken barbs. She wasn't _that_ forgiving or patient.

Willas must have noticed because his gaze sharpened. _Damn that woman to all Seven Hells!_

He swore vehemently. Again. _Wait a tick…_ "How did you get there so quickly? I know for a fact you were covered in mud and that your nursery is on the far side of the Keep."

"Magic."

"Garlan said that too."

"Magic knows no boundaries. Neither man or woman, old or young." And a part of his mind wondered how his sister could sound so old at the oddest times.

"Alright, what do you mean by that." The timber of his voice deepened into a stern baritone as it usually did when he was serious.

"Well," Hermina began slowly, "even the books acknowledge that Westeros once had great magic. Our ancestor Garth the Green has many stories of his magic and a bottomless bag that never seemed to end."

"Magic is real then." He more or less stated. Though disbelief still tinged his statement.

"Yes." As if to support her answer, a shoot erupted from the ground at her feet and grew into a massive stalk that bloomed into rather large dandelion. The weed merrily wound around his sister and the flower flopped over and rested on Hermina's head like a faithful hound, shading her face with some rather colorful bangs. The girl went bright red with mortification as plain to see as her…pet.

Willas stared at the evidence in thought as his mind revolved back to the story Garlan had told him of his healing. He was beyond glad they were having this discussion privately. It seemed everything Garlan had said was true after all. And if he knew his brother, the boy was hinting that he himself also had magic, maybe. Was it like Hermina's? He'd ponder that later.

"Hermina," he gifted the bashful, embarrassed little girl with a kind smile, "have you told anyone of this?"

She shook her head. "Only Garlan, and that was because he saw me give you tea."

Willas felt relieved. This would make things easier considering he now had two of his four siblings under his wing, his own pieces to play in this larger game of power, he was willing to completely consider Hermina's words and not dismiss them.

She then blurted out, "and you have it too."

"Do I?" Somewhat stunned he couldn't help but doubt that claim.

"Just a little, for now. I didn't know until you sat, and then I could feel you." She reluctantly revealed, "It's like a muscle, you have to exercise it for your magic to get stronger."

His mind ever elastic, absorbed the information without batting an eye. Personally, he had a feeling that the next week or so would be full of reflection on his part. And lots and lots of experimentation which he knew Garlan would _gladly_ volunteer for.

He didn't have a choice.

And now he knew the source of _apparently_ his own and Garlan's fledgling power, well, that was one card he would be a fool to throw away or worse, put in his Grandmother's hands. His father didn't even bear consideration. He didn't fully accept anything he'd been told, but neither would he deny it either. He would wait for everything to come full circle before passing his own judgment.

Once he made his decision, Willas grinned suddenly, "let's have this as a secret between us for now, okay?"

"So, you don't think I'm crazy."

And then Willas understood. She was afraid he would reject her too. _Not a chance in all Seven Hells!_ She had had both he and Garlan wrapped around her little fingers the moment they laid eyes on her.

"No. Annoying, nosey, and far too mischievous for a girl of your position, but not crazy." He clarified and then stood up to his full height only slightly diminished because of his accident, his weakened leg was beginning to throb. The heir thoughtfully regarded his youngest and magically gifted sister. "If you are truly blessed with Garth the Green's gift, something we've not heard of since he walked these lands, then we would be fools not use that."

"Garth called it The Blessing."

"Care to repeat that?"

Abstractly Willas wondered how many more life altering revelations his sister was hiding in that pretty little noggin' of hers. For now he firmly suspended his belief of all he knew and accepted the strange world he'd apparently walked right into. His inner skeptic could have a field day with all of this later. Much later.

Hermina seemed to have no such qualms. What next she related to him was a conversation she had with their illustrious and legendary ancestor, though he did notice details and odd points missing from her explanation. He filed those observations away for another day. Heart attacks of this magnitude could wait to fell him.

Once she finished her narrative, he could only remark, "Well, it's not every day that an ancestor tells you what to do."

And despite herself, Hermina giggled. The beast of a weed left a dusting of yellow pollen in her hair, on her nose, cheeks, and lashes, and her dress. Willas idly noted that the maids were going to be pitching fits over his sister's state, again. It was then he noticed the time.

"Hermina, go get cleaned up for the feast." He put up a hand forestalling any comments from her, "and no magic." She pouted at him, but when he refused to relent she huffed and obeyed.

The moment she disappeared around the bend towards the keep, eighteen nameday old heir let out a large huff, suddenly exhausted, and slowly began his own trek back to his quarters. His mind was a whirl.

When Willas finally heard the words Hermina mumbled his interest piqued. After all he was raised to be ambitious by the very Queen of Thorns herself. There was no chance in all seven hells, that he was going to stop at simply being another liege lord, high lord above all others in just another kingdom serving another useless monarch. _No_. The cogs of his mind started turning.

What would it be like to be free? To be able to make their own decisions without having the interference of the Iron Throne politics? Or any of the other kingdoms' politics?

Every single one of the Tyrell children had been born before Robert's Rebellion. Hermina was just barely a few days old when their father came riding back to Highgarden, summoned the banners, marched off to war, and laid siege to Storms End. All the while faithfully supporting their Vows of Fealty to their Liege Lord, Aerys Targaryen. Both he and Garlan remembered it well and with no small amount of horror.

It was The Reach and their men that simultaneously held off the Northern armies, the Vale armies, and the Stormlands. Between the Reach and the Crownland Loyalists, news was that they were winning the battles fairly decisively. It wasn't until the Riverlands threw their lot in with the rebellion that the tables turned ever so slightly.

Dorne had stayed out of it all, mainly because they were held hostage due to the imprisonment of Elia Martell in the Red Keep and their general unwillingness to join forces with The Reach, their ancestral enemies.

The Westerlands also remained neutral, which was to be expected given the feud between the Mad King and his Hand. The crazed monarch's utter stupidity in assuming that _Tywin Lannister_ was benevolent enough to bow his head in humility and come to the throne's aid, well. The madman had lusted after the Golden Lion's treasured wife and then humiliated him at every turn. Was it really so surprising that it was the Lannister's who had their revenge in the end?

And yes, The Reach heard all of the juicy rumors and gossip first before even the Crownlands. Their survival, both aristocracy and peasantry, depended upon it. The small folk might not care for the games of the High Lords, however ironically, it was also they who depended upon those said high-lords for protection and thus should at least care for the disputes and feuds of their protectors.

Lady Olenna's ambition had her shrewdly monitoring all of the political comings and goings on across the entirety of Westeros. In her own way she was as formidable a spymaster as Master Varys when it came to information and networking.

No one could deny a Tyrell's ambition. Indeed it had become one of their defining characteristics within the last several decades or so due, mainly, to his grandmother. However her sights, as well as Margaery's, and even his father's, were for the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms.

A Targaryen Throne.

Not the hereditary seat of Highgarden. Or ancestral land like The Reach.

That was intolerable.

They needed to be an independent kingdom, free of the inept ruling and folly of the Iron Throne. Willas frowned, he needed to think on that. But the idea took root, consuming all other plans and would not be gainsaid.

Should they be successful in their bid for independence, the Tyrells would be finally cemented as the Lords of the Reach and the heirs of the Gardener kings once and for all. The House Florent would no longer be a thorn in their sides and the infighting would cease or be minimalized. If he had anything to say about it.

Especially now his Grandmother's spies were reporting the failing of the Westerland mines. That was one enemy weakening.

All such ideas in the past had instantly been harpooned with their vows of fealty and loyalty to the Iron Throne, and the Tyrell name. They were powerful, true, and they also had a reputation for ambition, which was also true, but they were also loyal. And that was the sticking point because a large part of their image and power had been built on their reputation as steadfast loyalists.

So long as a Targaryen sat the Iron Throne, The Reach bent knee to its ruling family, its benefactors. _But now what?_ Even the famed honorable Starks could not claim honoring their allegiance to the throne because they were amongst the first of the rebellious.

Rumors of some members of the royal house surviving had been filtering back to their grandmother and she let him overhear them. Would that, then, mean they would be obliged to bend knee again should either Daenerys or Viserys retake the Throne?

Willas thought for a moment. No. No, it did not. Their brother and father lost the throne, deposed by their own subjects and the remaining royals were little more than beggars. As part of a loyalist family he should be urging his grandmother to do all in her power to assist them. Should. But he was not the one that bent knee to their King, nor had his siblings, which meant that _their_ honor was untouched, and more importantly, uncommitted.

He still endured nightmares of the last days of Aerys II's reign. He had been a small boy of eleven by then and Garlan had been nine, however they both witnessed the atrocities and horror that sprung from that throne like water from their garden fountains. They saw the terror pf the small folk and nobility alike. It left a bad taste in his mouth when it came to the thought of those 'ruling' over them.

And an insatiable hunger for freedom from any and all control.

If ever there was a time to take advantage of this opening, it was while the kingdom's peace as tenuous at best. Better still, a Targaryen did not sit the throne now. Even if one of the surviving Targaryen family members did again posses the throne, they would find themselves one kingdom shorter.

The Lannister Family wasn't the only one slighted, humiliated, held in contempt, and taken for granted by their Liege Lord. Only they wouldn't have to stoop to the murder of the Royal Family to have their revenge.

This time they would be able to protect themselves. Dragons may once again come into the world if Hermina's magic was any indication. They would not be helpless in the face of the beasts either. Unlike the ill-fated Gardener Kings of Old, the Tyrells were now equipped for the challenges ahead. _The Green_ would once more be felt across Westeros as it had not in many an Age.

The Gardener Line would be free of those obligations and ancient loyalties. They would be free to pursue their own interests and break this societal stagnation that was slowly strangling them all. _Well no more._ The Reach would not stand for it and if the other kingdoms wanted to throw tantrums, they could go hang themselves.

He would make sure of that.

The new course of action settled in Willas' mind and with it, a new direction lay for House Tyrell. The only Great House in the Seven Kingdoms that strove to grow stronger above all others and had the ambition to strive for their goals. He needed time to think and plot and plan.

This would take years, but if all went well the Tyrells would be ruling the Reach as independent sovereigns and not just lords. The Tyrells would never again be accused as Usurping the Line of Gardener. Something they battled constantly even with the elder claim through the female side.

One thing was readily apparent to him, he had much planning to do. But of their success, he was determined.

* * *

 _To Be Continued…_

* * *

A/N: First things first: _**thank you**_ all who have reviewed and commented (liked, followed, and fav'ed). I've enjoyed every one of your comments immensely (even the barmy ones) and they've made me snicker more than once and sit back and think on others. Believe it or not, when you all ask questions or poke at the potential plot-holes I might miss, that keeps me thinking and on my toes. You truly do help (and inspire), I also like hearing what you're thinking!

…

In their own way, the Tyrell children (like the Starks) live a rather charmed life in Westerosi terms and they do have something of an idyllic childhood. They do not have to deal with the struggles of survival like those of the serfs, 'free folk', and the 'small folk'. But, as the Stark children found out, childhood in Westeros doesn't last…

…

Next Chapter: _**Bottomless Bags**_

OceFossa 12/17/16, 1/27-2/5/17


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